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THE  ARTIST'S  MARRIED  LIFE  :    Being  that 

of   ALBERT   DURER.     Translated   from   the    German    of 
Leopold  Schefer,  by  Mrs.  J.  R.  STODART.  .  .          1  25 


Artist's 


THE 


ARTIST'S  MARRIED  LIFE; 


BEING   THAT   OF 


ALBERT    DURER. 


TRANSLATED  FEOM  THE  GERMAN  OF  LEOPOLD  SCHEFER, 

h 

BY 

MRS.  J.  R.  STODART. 


EEVISED  EDITION,  WITH  MEMOIR. 


''•Here,  where  art  was  still  religion,  with  a  simple  reverent  heart, 
Lived  and  labored  Albrecht  Dtirer,  the  Evangelist  of  Art." 

FELLOW. 


NEW  YORK: 

JAMES  MILLER,  SUCCESSOR  TO  C.  S.  FRANCIS  &  CO., 

522   BROADWAY. 

1867. 


oq 


INTRODUCTION. 


ILBERT  DURER  not  only  left 

his  impress  upon  his  own  time,  but 
even  now,  after  a  period  of  nearly 
four  hundred  years,  the  influence  of  his  genius 
is  seen  and  felt. 

Having  passed  a  winter  in  France,  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  summer  in  Belgium  and  Switzerland, 
the  thought  of  Albert  Diirer  kindled  within  my 
mind,  and  I  said  I  must  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  city  of  his  birth,  see  the  house  where  he  was 
born,  and  stand  by  his  last  resting-place.  The 
Lake  of  Constance  was  crossed,  and  pausing  by 
the  way  to  admire  the  grand  Cathedral  at  TJlm, 
the  magnificent  works  of  art  at  Munich,  and  to 
wander  through  the  quiet  and  quaint  streets  of 
Augsburg,  (associated  with  Maximilian  and  the 
famous  Confession  of  1530,)  from  thence  we  were 
A 


yi  INTRODUCTION. 

soon  at  Nuremberg,  one  of  the  most  charming 
and  •  picturesque  cities  in  the  world. 

As  Nuremberg  was  in  the  middle  ages,  even 
such  is  Nuremberg  to-day.  Lifted  as  if  above 
the  sweeping  tide  of  time,  while  other  things  have 
changed,  that  continues  the  same.  The  ancient 
walls  and  towers,  gable  roofs  and  bay  windows, 
cathedrals,  shrines,  and  fountains,  are  all  now 
what  they  were  in  the  centuries  which  have  fled. 

The  first  place  to  be  visited  was  the  house  of 
Albert  Durer.  It  stands  near  the  Castle.  In  ap- 
proaching it  you  pass  the  noble  statue  in  bronze 
erected  to  Diirer's  memory  in  the  public  square 
bearing  his  ~name.  The  curious  mansion  is  sacred- 
ly preserved,  and  is  under  the  special  care  of  an 
association  of  artists.  It  is  visited  by  persons  from 
every  city  and  country  in  the  world,  and  those 
who  are  familiar  with  Diirer's  works  must  be  im- 
pressed by  the  resemblance  between  what  here 
presents  itself  to  the  eye,  and  that  which  he  has 
introduced  into  his  pictures  and  engravings.  The 
houses  around  are  like  those  delineated  by  his 
pencil ;  and  customs  and  costumes,  witnessed  at 
this  moment  in  Nuremberg,  are  similar  to  those 
which  were  depicted  by  Albert  Diirer  more  than 
three  centuries  ago. 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

He  indulged,  like  others  of  his  day,  in  strange 
anachronisms.  Looking  upon  his  "  Adam  and 
Eve,"  in  the  garden  of  Eden  we  perceive  a  very 
comfortable  Nuremberg  house,  just  such  as  Hans 
Sachs  might  have  occupied  !  So,  also,  the  Virgin 
and  Infant  Saviour  appear  surrounded  by  persons 
in  the  German  dress,  precisely  as  if  they  had  been 
Albert  Diirer's  neighbors.  Hence  to-day,  as  you 
walk  through  the  streets  of  Nuremberg,  you  feel 
as  if  you  were  really  looking  upon  a  picture  by 
Albert  Diirer.  Everything  reminds  you  of  him. 
His  name  is  kept  in  grateful  remembrance  by 
the  whole  people.  Whatever  works  of  his  they  pos- 
sess are  highly  honored.  Here  you  see  the  portrait 
of  an  old  Burgomaster,  (Holzschuher,  a  rich  patri- 
cian,) who  appears  as  if  he  would  speak,  and  there 
you  look  upon  the  noble  head  of  Charlemagne. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  city  gate  is  the 
ancient  burial-place  of  St.  Johns.  It  is  peculiar 
in  its  aspect ;  over  three  thousand  gravestones 
resting  flat  upon  the  ground,  bearing  coats  of 
arms  and  devices  in  bronze,  presenting  a  sight 
not  elsewhere  to  be  seen.  Here  is  the  grave  of 
Albert  Diirer,  which  after  some  searching  we 
found,  and  read,  chiselled  upon  the  stone,  "  EMI- 


VU1  INTRODUCTION. 

GRAVIT,  Aprilis,  MDXXVIII.,"  proving  how  true 
are  Longfellow's  admirable  lines  : 

"  EMIGRAVIT  is  the  inscription  on  the  tombstone  where  he  lies ; 
Dead  he  is  not,  —  but  departed,  —  for  the  Artist  never  dies." 

Long  did  we  linger  in  this  deeply  interesting 
place,  musing  upon  the  changes  which  had  trans- 
pired since  Albert  Diirer  was  familiar  with  these 
scenes.  It  was  in  the  year  that  Diirer  was  twenty- 
one  that  Columbus  discovered  America  ;  in  that 
day  Luther  was  engaged  in  his  mighty  work ;  while 
Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  were  astonishing  the 
world  by  their  achievements  in  art.  As  you  walk 
quietly  through  the  streets  of  Nuremberg,  it  is 
difficult  to  realize  what  vast  revolutions  have  taken 
place,  and  what  stupendous  discoveries  have  been 
made  since  Albert  Diirer  was  there :  —  it  startles 
you  to  remember  that  more  than  a  hundred  years 
had  transpired,  after  the  close  of  his  career,  before 
the  days  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  the  fearful 
conflict  on  that  very  spot  between  him  and  Wal- 
lenstein.  There  is  an  indescribable  charm  in  this 
quaint  old  city,  all  interwoven  with  memories  of 
the  past,  and  indissolubly  associated  as  it  is  with 
the  genius  of  Albert  Diirer. 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

* 

At  Antwerp,  where  the  lofty  spire  of  the  Cathe- 
dral, with  its  exquisite  marble  tracery,  (as  if  giants 
and  fairies  had  worked  there  in  harmony,)  attracts 
and  holds  the  eye  at  every  turn,  there  we  remem- 
bered it  was  that  the  artist  of  Nuremberg  was 
publicly  entertained,  and  escorted  through  the  city 
by  torchlight;  so,  also,  at  Bruges,  with  its  grand 
Bell-Tower,  we  there  recollected  with  how  joyous 
a  welcome  he  was  here  received;  and  at  Venice, 
floating  as  in  a  dream  along  the  grand  canal,  or 
standing  by  the  Ducal  Palace  and  the  glorious 
Basilica  of  St.  Marks,  we  knew  that  it  was  in 
this  same  piazza  that  Marc  Antonio  (the  friend  of 
Raphael),  first  saw,  and  was  captivated  by,  the 
works  of  Durer. 

At  Rome,  too,  we  were  brought  again  face  to 
face  with  Albert  Durer  ;  in  the  Palazzo  Corsini, 
one  of  the  most  splendid  palaces  in  Rome,  is  a 
beautiful  painting  from  his  pencil,  and  in  the 
Palazzo  Sciarra  may  be  seen  one  of  his  most 
elaborate  and  finished  masterpieces. 

There  it  was — in  the  Eternal  City — that  a  dis- 
tinguished artist  voluntarily  brought  to  us  the 
"Life  of  Albert  Durer,"  (though,  as  it  happened, 
we  were  familiar  with  it  before,)  saying  that  he 
was  never  weary  of  reading  it,  and  he  never  trav- 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

• 

elled  without  having  with  him  the  book.  This 
unsolicited  statement,  from  an  eminent  sculptor, 
was  certainly  as  marked  a  tribute  as  could  well 
have  been  paid. 

That  Book  —  in  a  new  Edition  —  is  herewith 
presented  to  the  reader  in  the  belief  that  he  may 
find  within  it  somewhat  worthy  of  his  perusal. 

R.  C.  W. 

Boston,  2nd  Jan.  1861. 


Memoir  of  Albert  Diirer. 


(LBERT  DURER  was  born  at  Nu- 
f  remberg,  on  the  20th  of  May,  in 
*  the  year  1471.  His  father,  a  native 
of  Pannonia,  was  a  celebrated  goldsmith.  In 
his  youth  he  had  studied  in  the  Netherlands, 
under  the  famous  masters  of  the  school  of 
Bruges,  who  had  imparted  to  him  their  style, 
so  full  of  delicacy  and  truth.  But  in  the  year 
1455  he  relinquished  the  fertile  meadows  of 
Flanders  for  the  fresh  valleys  of  Germany.  At 
the  age  of  twenty-eight  he  settled  at  Nurem- 
berg, and  there  married  a  young  girl,  named 
Barbara  Hellerin,  who  became  the  mother  of 
the  famous  artist.  It  is  probable  that  Albert 
Diirer  began  to  assist  his  father  in  his  trade 
at  a  very  early  age,  but  he  always  manifested 
a  preference  for  engraving.  Unaffected  and 
pious,  living  without  ostentation  in  the  bosom 
of  a  quiet  family,  it  was  long  before  he  became 
aware  of  the  extent  of  his  powers.  The  first 


Xll  MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER. 

plate  executed  by  him  bears  the  date  of  1497 ; 
it  represents  four  naked  female  figures,  and 
far  from  having  been  copied,  as  is  asserted  by 
the  historian  Baldinucci,  from  a  copperplate  of 
Israel  van  Meckenen,  was  an  original  work, 
which  Israel  van  Meckenen  copied.  His  first 
picture,  a  portrait  of  himself,  was  executed  in 
the  year  1498 ;  it  is  now  to  be  seen  at  Flor- 
ence, in  the  gallery  set  apart  for  the  reception 
of  autograph  portraits.  The  artist  has  drawn 
himself  in  half  length,  seated  before  a  window, 
his  hands  resting  on  a  maul-stick ;  he  is  dressed 
in  festive  attire,  a  white  tunic  striped  with 
black,  and  a  mantle  thrown  gracefully  over 
one  shoulder.  His  beautiful  hair  is  arranged 
in  long  rich  curls.  Although  the  lines  are  very 
decided,  and  the  drawing  hard,  there  is  a  bold- 
ness in  the  execution,  and  a  softness  in  the 
touch,  which  is  not  to  be  met  with  in  his  later 
efforts.  The  noble  expression  which  the  mas- 
ter has  given  to  his  countenance  was  no  flat- 
tery, but  with  this  air  of  dignity  he  has  blended 
an  ingenuous  satisfaction  with  his  personal  ap- 
pearance. 

Albert  Diirer  was  not  only  handsome,  he  was 
also  very  proud  of  his  beauty,  as  we  learn  from 


MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER.  Xlll 

his  letters  to  his  intimate  friend  Willibald 
Pirkheimer.  An  innocent  pride  in  the  painter, 
which  was  only  one  form  of  his  admiration 
for  all  the  works  of  God.  It  seems,  indeed, 
as  if  nature  had  been  as  bounteous  with  her 
outward  gifts  as  she  had  been  prodigal  of 
her  intellectual  endowments.  "  She  had  given 
him,"  says  Camerarius,  "  a  commanding  figure, 
and  a  body  worthy  of  being  the  temple  of  so 
exquisite  a  mind."  His  features  were  remark- 
ably regular,  his  eye  bright,  his  hair  abundant 
and  glossy,  and  his  nose  aquiline,  while  the 
slender  elegance  of  his  neck,  his  expansive 
chest,  sinewy  limbs,  and  hands  of  exquisite 
delicacy,  completed  his  personal  attractions. 

Albert  Durer  was  fifteen  when  he  commenced 
studying  under  Michael  Wohlgemuth,  one  of 
the  old  masters,  who,  full  of  modesty  and 
honour,  practised  his  art  in  an  obscure  studio, 
caring  little  for  glory,  diligently  reading  his 
Bible,  studying  nature,  and  labouring  as  if  to 
fulfil  a  moral  obligation. 

Having  completed  the  term  of  his  appren- 
ticeship, the  young  artist  left  Wohlgemuth,  in 
order  that  he  might  see  something  of  the  world. 
He  travelled  through  Germany,  and  also  visited 


XIV  MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER. 

the  Netherlands  and  Italy ;  but  we  glean  little 
of  this  first  tour,  which,  made  at  the  early  age 
of  nineteen,  must  have  had  a  decided  influence 
on  his  character.  "  I  set  out,"  says  Diirer, 
"just  after  Easter,  in  the  year  1490,  and  re- 
turned in  1494,  after  Whitsuntide,  when  Hanns 
Frei  negotiated  with  my  father  to  give  me  his 
daughter  in  marriage,  and  with  her  a  dowry 
of  two  hundred  florins.  Our  nuptials  were 
celebrated  on  the  Monday  before  St.  Margaret's 
Day,  1494."  If  we  are  to  judge  by  the  portrait 
of  Agnes,  painted  by  her  husband,  she  must 
have  been  possessed  of  extraordinary  beauty ; 
but  with  this  beauty  was  mingled  an  expression 
of  irritability,  more  especially  when  anything 
unusual  happened  to  annoy  her.  Albert  Diirer, 
warned  of  this  failing  by  the  delicacy  of  his 
perception,  could  not  help  entertaining  gloomy 
forebodings.  He  thought  of  the  young  girl 
promised  him  in  marriage,  as  one  of  those  sin- 
ister prophecies  which  the  Pythoness  of  old 
was  wont  to  clothe  in  brilliant  language.  But 
he  submitted  to  what  he  considered  his  des- 
tiny. 

The  newly-married  couple  lived  happily  to- 
gether   for    a    short    period.      Soon,   however, 


MEMOIR    OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XV 

clouds  began  to  gather.  Durer,  whose  charac- 
ter was  mild  and  gentle,  had  not  the  determi- 
nation to  commence  a  strife  with  the  charming, 
though  formidable,  Agnes  Frei.  The  discon- 
solate artist  sought  comfort  and  advice  from  a 
near  friend,  in  whom  he  ever  found  a  ready 
sympathiser  in  his  sorrows.  Being  married 
himself,  Willibald  Pirkheimer  was  the  better 
fitted  to  be  his  counsellor,  though  his  domestic 
life  formed  a  strange  contrast  to  that  of  Albert 
Durer.  His  partner  was  a  model  of  grace  and 
gentleness ;  no  discord  had  ever  disturbed  their 
harmony.  But  he  was  destined  to  have  his 
share  of  the  troubles  of  this  world;  his  wife 
died,  and  her  loss  was  a  mutual  grief  to  the 
two  friends.  The  artist,  deeply  impressed  with 
the  memory  of  Crescentia,  painted  her  stretched 
on  her  death-bed,  holding  in  her  failing  hand  a 
lighted  taper  and  a  crucifix,  and  receiving  ex- 
treme unction  from  a  priest  seated  at  the  bed- 
side, while  a  kneeling  Augustine  friar  reads 
the  prayers  for  the  dying.  This  painting  was 
executed  with  pious  care.  At  the  side  of  the 
weeping  Willibald  are  seen  the  nuns  of  St. 
Clair,  who  are  come  to  soothe  the  last  hours 
of  his  wife.  At  the  top  of  the  canvas  Durer 


XVI        MEMOIR  OF  ALBERT  DURER. 

wrote,  in  letters  of  gold,  words  dictated  to  him 
by  his  friend. 

In  the  mean  time  Agnes  Frei,  tormented  by 
avarice,  restless,  haughty,  and  violent,  allowed 
no  repose  to  the  husband  she  had  tamed,  to 
the  melancholy  painter  of  "  Melancholy."  She 
urged  him  to  work,  even  threatened  him,  and 
at  last  locked  him  in  his  studio.  He  wrote 
sorrowfully  to  his  faithful  friend,  Willibald 
Pirkheimer :  "  I  hear  that  you  have  taken  to 
yourself  a  wife ;  take  care  that  she  prove  not 
also  a  master."  Once  he  managed  to  get  be- 
yond the  reach  of  this  Xanthippe,  by  making 
a  second  visit  to  the  city  of  lagoons,  the  home 
of  Italian  art,  beautiful  Venice.  He  was  in- 
duced to  make  this  journey,  by  the  pleasant 
reminiscences  of  his  former  sojourn  there.  This 
was  in  the  year  1506.  The  wonderful  engrav- 
ings of  Albert  Diirer  were  already  beginning 
to  astonish  the  lovers  of  the  fine  arts  in  Italy; 
his  renown  had  crossed  the  Alps  and  reached 
the  ears  of  Raffaele.  These  two  great  masters 
having  discovered  that  their  admiration  was 
reciprocal,  exchanged  portraits,  Diirer  sending 
with  his  some  of  his  fine  engravings.  The 
famous  engraver,  Marc  Antonio,  of  Bologna, 


MEMOIR    OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XV11 

was  at  that  time  in  Venice.  He  observed  in 
these  engravings  what  was  wanting  in  his  own. 
He  remarked  the  admirable  guidance  of  the 
graver,  the  exactitude  and  delicacy  of  the  fig- 
ures, and  the  great  precision  with  which  the 
copper  was  cut.  Admiring  also  the  free  and 
bold  style  of  Diirer's  wood-engravings,  he  at- 
tempted to  imitate  it.  By  degrees  he  was  led 
on  by  his  success  to  counterfeit  thirty-seven 
pieces  of  "  The  Passion,"  and  to  make  them 
complete,  placed  upon  them,  instead  of  his  own 
mark,  the  monogram  of  Albert  Diirer.  Vasari 
relates,  that  Diirer,  warned  of  this  fraud  by  the 
receipt  of  some  of  the  proofs,  hastened  to  Ven- 
ice, brought  an  action  against  Marc  Antonio, 
and  obtained  an  order  from  the  magistrates 
forbidding  the  Bolognese  engraver  to  use,  for 
the  future,  the  cypher  of  Albert  Diirer.  His 
house  was  continually  besieged  by  visitors. 
Nobles,  musicians,  and  learned  men  sought 
him,  and  so  disturbed  his  German  tranquillity, 
that  he  was  sometimes  obliged  to  conceal  him- 
self, in  order  to  gain  a  few  hours'  quiet.  With 
the  characteristic  penetration  of  a  German,  Al- 
bert Diirer  made  his  observations  on  the  good 
people  by  whom  he  was  surrounded,  among 


XVlll  MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER. 

whom  he  detected  many  of  those  witty  ami- 
able loungers,  of  whom  such  numbers  still  exist 
in  Italy:  "One  would  take  them,"  says  he, 
"for  the  most  charming  men.  They  are  well 
aware  that  one  is  not  ignorant  of  their  numer- 
ous follies,  but  they  only  laugh  at  it."  With 
the  solitary  exception  of  Giovanni  Bellini,  with 
whom  he  formed  a  close  friendship,  and  who 
overwhelmed  him  with  praises,  Diirer  had  ever 
cause  to  complain  of  the  painters.  Thrice  they 
had  him  dragged  before  the  magistrate,  to  com- 
pel him  to  pay  the  dues  of  their  companies. 

"I  have  many  friends  among  the  Wdlsche^  he  writes,  "who 
have  warned  me  neither  to  eat  nor  drink  with  their  painters, 
among  whom  I  have  many  enemies.  They  place  copies  of  my 
works  in  the  churches,  and  in  every  building  where  they  can 
possibly  have  them ;  afterwards  they  speak  disparagingly  of  them, 
say  that  they  are  not  antique,  and  are  worth  nothing." 

Perhaps  there  never  lived  a  man  more  hap- 
pily constituted,  and  gifted  in  a  higher  degree 
with  qualities  calculated  to  gain  the  affections 
and  dissipate  all  ill-feeling.  Diirer  was  kind 
and  generous  to  all,  and  always  mild  and  gen- 
tle in  his  bearing.  His  conversation,  which 
displayed  at  once  his  high  appreciation  of  art, 
and  his  profound  knowledge  of  the  mathemati- 


MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XIX 

cal  and  positive  sciences,  particularly  geome- 
try and  architecture,  was  so  agreeable  and  in- 
teresting, that  his  hearers  dreaded  the  moment 
when  he  should  cease  to  speak.  He  was  never 
at  a  loss  for  words,  in  which  to  express  him- 
self, and  his  manner  was  so  noble  and  dig- 
nified, that  the  highest  potentates,  Ferdinand, 
King  of  Bohemia,  and  Maximilian,  Emperor 
of  Germany,  took  pleasure  in  conversing  famil- 
iarly with  him.  The  latter,  having  formed  the 
highest  opinion  of  his  talents,  retained  him  at 
his  court,  where  he  employed  his  graver  and 
his  brush  alternately.  It  is  related,  that  one 
day,  when  engaged  in  painting  some  large  ob- 
ject, his  ladder  proving  too  short,  Maximilian 
requested  one  of  the  nobles  who  surrounded 
him  to  hold  the  ladder,  that  the  artist  might 
mount  with  safety  to  the  top.  But  the  noble 
lord  considered  it  beneath  his  dignity,  and  re- 
fused to  obey.  "  You  are  noble  by  birth," 
exclaimed  the  irritated  Emperor,  "my  painter 
is  ennobled  by  genius ; "  and  to  show  how 
much  easier  it  was  to  make  a  noble  than  a 
great  painter,  Maximilian  forthwith  commanded 
that  a  patent  of  nobility  should  be  made  out 
for  Diirer,  giving  him  for  armorial  bearings  — 


XX         MEMOIR  OF  ALBERT  DURER. 

three  shields  on  a  field  of  azure,  two  on  the 
chief,  and  one  on  the  base.  These  arms  be- 
came subsequently  those  of  all  the  societies 
of  painters. 

At  the  age  of  forty-nine,  Albert  Durer  again 
visited  the  Netherlands.  Unfortunately,  Agnes 
Frei,  his  terrible  spouse,  followed  him  there. 
Antwerp  being  at  that  time  the  most  important 
town  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  the  centre  of 
commerce,  was  the  first  place  they  visited. 
The  evening  of  their  arrival,  the  agent  of  a 
rich  banking-house  —  that  of  the  Fuggers  — 
gave  them  a  splendid  supper.  The  following 
days  Durer  was  escorted  through  the  city,  and 
the  painters  invited  him  to  a  dinner  which  was 
given  at  their  hall,  of  which  the  illustrious 
guest  gives  the  following  account :  — "  No  ex- 
pense was  spared  ;  the  banquet  was  served  on 
silver,  and  all  the  painters,  with  their  wives, 
were  present.  When  I  entered  with  mine, 
they  separated  on  either  side,  as  if  I  had  been 
one  of  the  nobles  of  the  land.  There  were 
present  many  persons  of  high  station,  who 
greeted  me  respectfully,  manifesting  every  de- 
sire to  be  agreeable  and  obliging  in  all  things. 
When  we  were  seated,  Master  Rathporth  of- 


MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XXI 

fered  me,  in  the  name  of  the  corporation,  four 
measures  of  wine,  in  token  of  their  good  will 
and  esteem.  I  thanked  them,  expressing  my 
gratitude .  .  .  The  entertainment  was  continued 
until  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  when  we  were 
conducted  home  by  torchlight,  amid  overwhelm- 
ing protestations  of  friendship." 

At  Ghent  and  at  Bruges  Durer  received  a 
similar  welcome.  Proofs  of  esteem  were  lav- 
ished upon  him,  in  the  shape  of  invitations  ; 
delicacies  abounded,  the  wine  flowed  plenti- 
fully, and  every  evening  he  was  reconducted 
to  his  abode  by  torch-light.  Margaret  of  Aus- 
tria, regent  of  the  Netherlands  for  Charles  V., 
hearing  that  Durer  was  at  Brussels,  despatched 
an  officer  of  the  court  to  assure  him  of  the 
favor  of  herself  and  the  emperor.  In  gratitude 
for  this  politeness,  the  Nuremberg  engraver  pre- 
sented to  Margaret  some  of  his  finest  plates, 
"  St.  Jerome  in  the  Room,"  engraved  on  cop- 
per with  wonderful  delicacy,  a  copy  of  "  The 
Passion,"  and  afterwards  he  gave  her  copies  of 
his  entire  collection  of  engravings,  with  the  ad- 
dition of  two  subjects  drawn  on  parchment 
with  great  labor  and  care,  which  he  valued  at 
thirty  florins.  But  he  soon  began  to  feel  the 


Xxil  MEMOIR   OP   ALBERT   DURER. 

effects  of  intrigue ;  the  envious  prepared  snares 
for  him  so  artfully,  that  after  the  favorable  re- 
ception which  Margaret  had  given  him,  her 
manner  suddenly  changed  towards  him.  Durer 
showed  her  a  portrait  which  he  had  painted  of 
the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  when  she  assumed  so 
disdainful  an  air,  that  the  artist  was  compelled 
to  remove  his  canvas  in  silence.  On  another 
occasion,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  this 
contempt  were  felt  for  his  talents  or  his  per- 
son, he  begged  for  the  little  book  of  Master 
Jacob  (Jacob  Cornelisz),  which  was  embellished 
with  choice  miniatures ;  but  the  lady  replied 
sharply  that  it  was  promised  to  her  painter, 
Bernard  Van  Orley.  Then  and  there  ended 
their  connexion,  much  to  the  gratification  of 
the  crafty  and  the  envious.  This  celebrated 
engraver  was  not  worse  treated  by  the  Aus- 
trian princess  than  by  private  individuals,  for 
in  Brussels  he  painted  six  portraits,  for  none 
of  which  the  remuneration  was  forthcoming. 
His  abode  at  Antwerp  provoked  the  following 
remark:  —  "I  have  made  here  many  drawings 
and  portraits,  the  majority  of  which  have 
brought  me  nothing."  In  consequence  of  this, 
although  he  worked  hard  and  practised  the 


MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XX111 

strictest  economy,  he  became  involved  in  pecun- 
iary  difficulties.      Hurt  by  the  contrast  which 
he  remarked  between  his  splendid  reception  and 
the   strange  proceedings  which  followed  it,  he 
wrote  conspicuously  in  his  memorandum-book 
these  words,  "  In  all  my  transactions,  whether 
in  selling  or  in  buying    during  my  sojourn  in 
the  Netherlands,  in  all  my  intercourse  with  the 
high  or  low  classes,  I  have  been  wronged,  more 
particularly  by   the    Lady    Margaret    (of   Aus- 
tria), who  has  given  me  nothing  in  return  for 
all  my  presents  and  labours."     Regarding   the 
portrait  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.,  which  the 
regent  had  appeared  to   despise,  Albert   Diirer 
was  obliged  to  part  with  it  for  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief of  English   manufacture.     Happily   a 
citizen  of  Antwerp,   Alexander  Imhoff,  accom- 
modated   him    with    a    loan   of    one   hundred 
golden  florins,  for  which  he  put  his  hand  to  a 
bill  stamped  with  his  seal,  and  payable  at  Nu- 
remberg.    Just   as  he  was    meditating    his  de- 
parture, Christian  IL,  King  of  Denmark,  made 
his  appearance  in  the  city,  and,  hearing  that 
Diirer  was  still  there,  sent  for  him,  loaded  him 
with   favours,  and  desired  to  have   his  portrait 
taken  by  so  great  an  artist,  for  which  he  paid 


XXIV  MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER. 

him  liberally.  Gratified  by  the  splendid  en- 
gravings presented  to  him  by  Albert  Diirer, 
Christian  invited  him  to  a  banquet,  at  which 
the  Emperor,  the  Princess  Margaret,  and  the 
Queen  of  Spain  were  present;  but  none  of 
these  august  personages  deigned  to  address  a 
word  to  the  noble  and  handsome  guest.  Soon 
after  this,  our  artist  left  Belgium,  carrying  with 
him  bitter  reminiscences,  which  made  his  na- 
tive Germany  appear  more  charming  than  ever. 
There,  at  least,  he  had  only  to  bear  his  cus- 
tomary grief,  conjugal  strife,  a  grief  which  was 
unvarying  and  inconsolable,  and  which  was  re- 
vived, from  time  to  time,  by  the  passions  of 
Agnes. 

The  study  of  the  Flemish  paintings,  and  his 
own  acute  observation,  had  by  degrees  worked 
a  considerable  modification  in  Albert  Diirer's 
view  with  regard  to  the  nature  and  aim  of  art. 
The  correspondence  of  his  friend  Melancthon, 
as  well  as  the  later  works  of  the  painter,  proves 
to  us  that,  towards  the  close  of  his  career,  his 
mind  underwent  a  vast  change.  Instead  of 
the  profusion  of  detail  which  characterised  his 
more  youthful  productions,  he  now  sought  to 
throw  into  his  pictures  a  simplicity  and  har- 


MEMOIR  OF  ALBERT  DURER.        XXV 

mony  of  conception,  which  he  found  made  a 
much  nearer  approach  to  nature,  than  the  labo- 
rious variety  which  he  crowded  into  his  former 
pictures.  He  regretted  that  he  had  not  discov- 
ered this  earlier  in  life,  for,  at  his  age,  it  was 
difficult  to  alter  his  style  of  painting ;  but  with 
these  noble  regrets  was  mingled  the  still  more 
noble  desire  to  improve  the  style  and  general 
character  of  his  works.  Then  it  was  that  he 
painted  the  sublime  figures  of  the  Apostles, 
which  are  to  be  seen  at  Munich. 

A  fatal  hour  was  approaching  for  Albert 
Diirer.  He  was  unable  to  support  the  double 
burden  of  labour  and  vexation,  inasmuch  as  Ag- 
nes Frei  became  every  day  more  peevish  and 
ill-tempered.  Tortured  by  the  foolish  fear  of 
poverty,  she  harassed  the  patient  engraver  with 
her  lamentations.  She  watched  him  with  a 
commanding  look,  and  held  his  genius  captive 
to  her  sordid  spirit,  demanding  what  was  to 
become  of  her  should  she  be  left  a  widow. 
Those  friends  who  would  have  solaced  and  en- 
tertained him  were  driven  away,  and  the  poor 
old  painter,  tired  of  life,  and  worn  out  with 
struggling,  lost  his  energy,  and  gave  himself 
up  to  despair.  An  eye-witness  relates,  that 


XXVI       MEMOIR  OF  ALBERT  DURER. 

his  reason  sometimes  seemed  to  wander.  Al- 
bert Diirer  died  on  the  6th  of  April,  1528. 

At  the  cemetery  of  St.  John,  at  Nuremberg, 
is  shown  the  spot  where  this  great  master, 
after  a  life  full  of  troubles  and  anxieties,  found 
a  haven  of  rest.  "  It  is  impossible  to  imagine 
a  more  gloomy  place,"  says  one  of  our  contem- 
poraries. Not  one  of  those  country  graveyards, 
so  full  of  nature's  poetry ;  no  weeping  willows 
drooping  their  melancholy  branches;  no  dark 
towering  cypress  mounting  towards  the  skies ; 
no  flowers,  green  turf,  or  garlands,  pious  offer- 
ings from  the  living  to  the  memory  of  the 
dead.  The  tombs,  ranged  in  long  rows,  like 
the  beds  of  the  patients  in  a  hospital,  are  mere- 
ly flat  stones  laid  over  the  graves.  No  railing 
encloses  them,  no  cross  surmounts  them;  their 
burying-place  might  be  compared  to  a  camp- 
bed  set  up  for  a  night.  Meanwhile,  the  lichen 
spreads  its  dusky  stains,  and  the  mass  of  rank 
verdure  announces  that  oblivion  is  already  be- 
ginning to  swallow  up  the  memory  of  those 
beloved  beings  to  whom  the  epitaph  promises 
eternal  tears. 

On  Albert  Diirer's  tomb-stone  is  the  follow- 
ing simple  inscription :  — 


MEMOIR   OF   ALBERT   DURER.  XXV11 

Me.  Al.  Du. 
QUIDQUID  ALBERTI  DURERI  MORTALE  FUIT 

SUB    HOC    CONDITUR   TUMULO 

EMIGRAVIT  vm  IDUS  APRILIS  MDXXVIII. 

Willibald  Pirkheimer,  the  faithful  friend  of 
the  great  painter,  added,  after  this  short  epi- 
taph, a  brief  catalogue  of  his  virtues,  and  men- 
tioned the  universal  grief  which  was  felt  for 
his  loss.  It  well  became  him  to  engrave  this 
last  farewell  on  Albert  Diirer's  tomb-stone,  for 
he  had  strengthened  and  consoled  him  all  his 
life.  Even  fate  seemed  to  respect  their  old  at- 
tachment, for  they  are  laid  side  by  side  in  the 
same  grave-yard. 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 


THE  Novels  of  SCHEFER  are  not  much  known; 
in  this  country,  nor  have  any  of  them,, 
so  far  as  I  know,  been  translated  into  English. 
The  following,  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  "  Tales  of  my  Landlord,"  purports  to  be 
an  old  manuscript  entrusted  by  Albert  Diirer  on 
his  deathbed  to  his  friend  Pirkheimer,  with  in- 
structions that  it  should  be  given  to  the  world 
when  all  those  to  whom  its  contents  might  cause 
pain,  were  no  more.  The  idea  may  have  been 
suggested  to  the  author  by  the  words  of  Diirer 
himself;  for  he  concludes  an  account  of  the  death 
of  his  father  by  saying — "  As  I  have  described  at 
length  in  another  book."  Of  this  book,  only  one 
torn  leaf  was  found,  marked  page  19.  It  is  writ- 
ten in  very  old  German,  and  contains  a  short  ac- 
count of  the  death  of  his  father  and  mother ;  of  a 
1 


2  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

remarkable  event  which  happened  in  the  year  1503, 
and  which  he  designates  as  "  the  greatest  miracle 
I  ever  saw  in  all  my  life,"  when  suddenly  the 
figure  of  the  cross  was  seen  on  the  persons  of  many 
individuals  at  the  same  time,  especially  on  children ; 
that  on  account  of  its  singularity  he  had  made  a 
drawing  of  one  which  appeared  on  his  own  maid- 
servant Susanna,  and  which  so  terrified  her  that 
she  wept  and  lamented,  thinking  it  would  be  the 
cause  of  her  death  ;  of  having  seen  a  comet  in  the 
heavens  ;  and  also  how  he  had  been  enabled  to  pay 
all  his  debts  contracted  in  Venice,  besides  pur- 
chasing many  articles  of  furniture,  new  dresses, 
and  various  domestic  utensils,  with  a  large  sum 
of  money  he  had  received  for  one  of  his  works ;  — 
all  quite  in  accordance  with  the  events  narrated  in 
the  following  pages. 

This  fragment,  together  with  a  journal  of  his 
travels  in  the  Netherlands  with  his  wife  and  Su- 
sanna, letters  to  Pirkheimer  and  other  friends,  and 
various  interesting  details,  is  given  in  a  small  vol- 
ume published  in  1828  by  Dr.  Friedrich  Campe, 
a  citizen  of  Niirnberg,  entitled  "  Relics  of  Albert 
Diirer."  By  it  I  find  that  the  leading  facts  in 
the  life  of  the  great  painter  are  closely  adhered  to 
by  the  novelist.  The  history  of  the  little  Agnes, 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  3 

however,  must  be  imaginary ;  unless  indeed  Sche- 
fer  is  correct  in  saying,  that  from  her  early  death, 
and  having  been  scarcely  known  among  men,  the 
memory  of  her  had  passed  away.  I  should  also 
mention  that  Campe  gives  some  poetic  effusions 
from  the  pen  of  Diirer ;  —  but  truth  obliges  me 
to  say,  that  though  a  master  in  the  art  of  paint- 
ing, he  seems  to  have  been  but  a  journeyman  in 
the  sister  art  of  poetry. 

In  the  journal,  he  tells  of  the  manner  in  which 
he  and  his  wife  and  Susanna  were  entertained  at 
Antwerp  by  the  painters  and  their  wives ;  of  the 
silver  service  and  the  extravagantly  fine  dinner, 
and  how  they  were  conducted  home  late  at  night 
by  all  the  company  carrying  torches  ;  also  at 
Bruges  how  he  was  entertained  with  like  magnifi- 
cence, an  account  of  which  he  concludes  by  saying 
that  more  than  sixty  persons  accompanied  him  home 
with  many  torches.  He  mentions  having  been  pres- 
ent at  a  banquet  given  by  the  Emperor  Charles 
V.  to  the  King  of  Denmark  (his  brother-in-law), 
and  also  at  one  given  by  the  King  to  the  Emperor 
and  Margaret  (Governess  of  the  Netherlands)  in 
return.  In  reference  to  the  latter,  his  words  are 
—  "He  invited  me,  and  I  ate  with  them  there." 
Honours  were  heaped  on  him  wherever  he  went, 


4  TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 

also  costly  presents  of  wine  and  other  articles  of 
luxury.  He  tells  of  the  storm  he  encountered  on 
the  coast,  after  having  left  his  wife  at  Antwerp, 
and  of  the  numerous  pictures  he  gave  away ;  to 
the  Bishop  of  Bamberg,  who  invited  him  to  his 
house  and  paid  for  him  at  the  inn ;  to  the  King 
of  Denmark,  and  many  others.  It  seems,  indeed, 
as  the  novelist  says,  to  have  been  his  delight  to 
give  pleasure  to  every  one.  But  his  journey  to 
the  Netherlands  was  nearly  fruitless  in  all  but 
honours.  Margaret,  especially,  considered  him 
richly  rewarded  by  fair  words  for  many  works  he 
had  executed  for  her,  and  others  he  had  present- 
ed to  her  besides. 

In  this  little  volume  Campe  publishes  a  remark- 
able letter  of  Pirkheimer,  printed  from  his  own 
handwriting  and  addressed  to  Tscherte,  the  Emper- 
or's architect  at  Vienna,  in  which  he  very  plainly 
accuses  Agnes  of  having  been  the  cause  of  her 
husband's  death.  He  says  — "  She  gnawed  into 
his  heart ; "  that  "  she  gave  him  no  peace  night 
or  day ; "  and  that  in  consequence  "  he  wasted 
away  to  a  skeleton  ; "  that  she  urged  him  to  work, 
for  no  other  reason  than  that  he  might  make  money 
to  leave  to  her ;  and  adds  that  he  (Pirkheimer) 
had  often  reproved  her  for  her  conduct,  and  proph- 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  5 

esied  what  would  be  the  end  of  it  :  but  these 
friendly  warnings  gained  him  nothing  but  ill  will. 
All  this  Diirer  seems  to  have  borne  with  the  ut- 
most meekness,  quite  in  conformity  with  the  char- 
acter drawn  of  him  by  Schefer.  He  was  patient 
under  a  hard  lot — a  picture  of  composure  through- 
out all  his  domestic  trials.  In  his  published  writ- 
ings, as  given  by  Campe,  there  is  not  a  single 
word  of  complaint  to  be  found  ;  but  his  letters  to 
Pirkheimer  from  Venice  breathe  a  spirit  of  sad- 
ness, especially  in  anticipation  of  his  return  home. 
In  the  account  of  his  mother's  death,  he  says  that 
she  had  suffered  many  severe  sicknesses,  great 
poverty,  mockery,  contempt,  scornful  words,  fear, 
and  great  reverses ;  but  he  never  says  from  whom 
she  had  to  endure  this  mockery  and  contempt ; 
only  there  is  no  mention  of  Agnes  having  assisted 
in  rendering  the  last  duties  to  her  husband's 
mother ;  and  Diirer  himself,  after  telling  that  his 
father  had  confided  her  to  his  care,  says  —  "Two 
years  after  my  father's  death,  I  took  my  mother 
home  to  my  own  house,  for  she  had  nothing  more." 
Thus  Schefer  seems  to  be  justified  in  his  conclu- 
sion that  Agnes  was  the  cause  of  all  this.  That 
he  did  much  to  please  her  is  evident  throughout : 
among  other  things,  while  in  the  Netherlands  he 


6  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

notes  down  in  his  journal  different  articles  he  had 
bought  for  her,  such  as  fine  ivory  combs,  a  cage 
for  a  small  green  parrot  that  had  been  presented 
to  her,  and  what  he  calls  "  a  thin  Flemish  stuff 
for  the  head." 

From  Campe's  estimate  of  him  as  a  man  and 
an  artist,  we  find  that  nature  and  an  inquiring 
mind  were  his  teachers  ;  untiring  patience  and 
boundless  industry  the  genii  that  accompanied  him 
through  life.  He  opened  up  his  own  path  on  all 
sides :  we  have  to  thank  him  for  the  invention  of 
etching  ;  he  wrote  the  first  work  on  fortification ; 
one  on  the  proportions  of  the  human  body,  one  on 
perspective,  and  many  others  besides ;  he  was  the 
first  who  made  rules  for  the  art  of  writing,  and 
gave  a  better  form  to  the  letters;  he  was  about 
to  begin  a  work  on  landscape  painting,  when  death 
called  him  away.  He  was  a  designer,  painter,  ar- 
chitect, sculptor,  and  engraver  on  wood  as  well  as 
metal.  He  made  woodcuts  of  the  life  of  Christ 
in  thirty-nine  pieces.  One  of  his  best  specimens, 
in  this  style  is  St.  Eustacius  kneeling  before  a 
stag  which  has  a  crucifix  between  its  horns.  At 
Prague,  besides  his  picture  of  Adam  and  Eve, 
there  is  one  of  Christ  bearing  the  Cross.  His 
own  picture  which  he  sent  to  Raphael,  came  into 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  7 

possession  of  Giulio  Romano,  who  placed  it  among 
the  curiosities  in  the  palace  of  Mantua.  At  Ven- 
ice there  is  an  Ecce  Homo ;  and  in  the  gallery 
at  Florence,  besides  his  own  portrait,  are  the  rep- 
resentations of  St.  Philip  and  St.  James,  and  an 
Adam  and  Eve.  The  people  of  Niirnberg  still 
carefully  preserve  in  the  public  hall  his  portraits 
of  Charlemagne  and  some  of  the  Emperors  of  the 
house  of  Austria ;  also  the  twelve  Apostles,  whose 
drapery  is  remarkable  ;  and  in  the  church  of  St. 
Sebaldus,  in  which  he  was  married  (a  very  old 
building  in  the  pure  Gothic  style,  one  part  of 
which,  St.  Peter's  Chapel,  situated  between  the 
towers,  dates  as  far  back  as  the  tenth  century), 
there  is  a  picture  by  him  of  the  entombment  of 
Christ,  said  to  be  excellent.  Fuseli  says  that  the 
colouring  of  Diirer  went  beyond  his  age,  and  that 
in  easel  pictures  it  as  far  excelled  the  oil  colour 
of  Raphael  in  juice  and  breadth  and  handling,  as 
Raphael  excelled  him  in  every  other  quality. 

He  knew  not  what  it  was  to  envy  other  artists ; 
he  rejoiced  over  everything  that  was  good,  and 
praised  whatever  there  was  to  praise.  If  an  ill 
executed  work  was  brought  to  him,  he  said  good- 
humouredly  — "  Well,  the  master  has  done  his 
best."  He  was  well  versed  in  the  Scriptures, 


8  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

and  they  furnished  materials  for  his  best  repre- 
sentations. He  never  lent  his  talent  to  indecen- 
cy ;  his  art  was  as  pure  as  his  morals.  His  facility 
was  inconceivable.  Bellini  wished  to  have  from 
him  the  pencil  with  which  he  drew  hair  so  minute- 
ly ;  Diirer  held  out  to  him  a  handful  of  every 
kind,  telling  him  to  take  any  one  he  liked,  for 
that  he  could  do  it  with  them  all.  Once  in  a 
party  of  artists,  when  every  one  was  giving  a 
proof  of  his  skill,  Diirer  took  a  piece  of  chalk  and 
drew  quite  off-hand  a  circle  on  the  table,  telling 
them  that  they  might  bring  compasses  and  meas- 
ure it ;  which  being  done,  it  was  found,  to  the 
astonishment  of  all  present,  that  he  had  hit  it  to 
a  hair. 

Of  his  outward  appearance,  Campe  says  that 
he  was  well  made,  his  chest  manly  and  broad,  his 
hands  slight,  his  brow  serene,  his  nose  slightly 
aquiline,  his  hair  dark-brown,  falling  in  natural 
curls  over  his  shoulders,  his  expression  kindly  and 
open,  and  that  there  was  something  so  pleasant 
in  his  talk,  that  he  was  listened  to  with  attention 
and  delight. 

He  seems  to  have  been  warmly  attached  to  the 
principles  of  the  Reformation.  When  he  was  in 
the  Netherlands  in  1521,  news  came  that  Luther 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  9 

had  been  seized  and  carried  off  to  the  Castle  of 
Wartburg.  Thinking  that  he  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  his  enemies,  Diirer  was  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  and  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  very 
pathetic  lamentation  and  prayer,  which  are  given 
in  the  journal. 

The  house  in  which  Diirer  lived  and  died  is  of 
very  considerable  dimensions,  and  stands  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  called  at  that  time  Zisselgasse, 
but  now  Albrecht  Diirer's  Strasse,  and  is  nearly 
opposite  to  one  of  the  gates  leading  into  the  Im- 
perial Castle.  In  his  day  it  seems  to  have  stood 
at  the  extremity  of  the  city,  but  is  now  quite  sur- 
rounded by  buildings  which  have  arisen  on  all  sides. 
Campe  says  that  in  1826  he,  as  a  member  of  the 
magistracy,  bought  for  the  city  from  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  house  a  balcony  where  Diirer  used  to 
work,  for  which  he  paid  1675  florins,  and  that  it 
is  carefully  preserved  as  a  relic.  He  also  gives 
a  letter  from  Louis,  the  present  King  of  Bavaria, 
so  well  known  as  a  liberal  encourager  of  the  arts, 
showing  a  high  appreciation  of  Diirer  as  an  artist, 
and  proposing  that  a  statue  should  be  erected  in 
honour  of  him  in  his  native  city.  To  this  Campe 
says  that  such  a  letter  from  such  a  King  is  itself 
the  best  monument  to  the  memory  of  the  Artist. 


10  TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 

Diirer's  ancestors  were  Hungarians,  inhabitants 
of  a  small  village  called  Eytas,  whence  his  grand- 
father Anton  Diirer  came  to  Nurnberg,  and  there 
learned  the  trade  of  a  goldsmith,  which  was  held 
in  much  higher  repute  in  those  days  than  it  is 
now,  and  argued  a  more  than  ordinary  advance- 
ment in  art.  His  father  and  himself  continued 
the  same  trade,  which  he  pursued  even  after  hav- 
ing become  a  renowned  painter  and  engraver. 
His  wife,  who  survived  him  eleven  years,  carried 
on  the  business  after  his  death  ;  and  when  she 
died,  it  was  taken  up  by  his  brother  Andreas,  the 
only  one  of  all  his  numerous  family  who  survived 
him.  His  wife's  parents  died  in  still  greater  pov- 
erty than  his  own,  and  also  in  the  midst  of  severe 
trials  and  reverses. 

Diirer's  father,  in  noting  down  the  births  of  his 
children,  never  mentions  the  day  of  the  month, 
but  just  the  year  and  the  Saint's  day  on  which 
the  birth  took  place,  which  is  indeed  a  common 
practice  among  Catholics. 

His  son  Albert  was  born  on  the  day  of  St.  Pru- 
dentius,  1471  (the  6th  of  April),  on  which  Good 
Friday  fell  in  that  year ;  and  he  died  also  on  the 
6th  of  April  1528,  and  in  Passion  Week  ;  accord- 
ing to  Schefer  on  Maunday  Thursday.  Diirer 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  11 

died  of  consumption  in  the  57th  year  of  his  age, 
Campe  says  —  weary  of  life,  his  body  emaciated, 
and  his  fine  aspect  gone.  As  far  back  as  1521, 
he  says  in  his  journal  — "  In  the  third  week 
after  Easter  I  was  attacked  by  a  burning  fever, 
together  with  -great  weakness,  loathing,  and  head- 
ache; and,  as  formerly  when  in  Zealand,  I  was 
again  overcome  by  a  strange  sickness  of  which  I 
never  heard  lefore  from  any  one,  and  this  sick- 
ness I  have  yet"  He  was  then  in  the  Nether- 
lands, and  every  page  in  the  journal  after  this 
date  contains  entries  of  money  paid  for  medical 
advice.  This  was  seven  years  before  his  death  ; 
but  the  strange  sickness  here  mentioned  was  most 
probably  the  beginning  of  the  fatal  disease  which 
brought  him  gradually  down  to  a  premature  grave. 
A  joint  sepulchre  was  built  for  his  father-in-law 
and  himself  in  the  churchyard  of  St.  John ;  and 
an  epitaph,  written  by  his  friend  and  patron  Pirk- 
heimer,  was  inscribed  on  his  gravestone.  But 
Sandrart,  who  came  to  Niirnberg  in  1674,  and 
continued  there  till  his  death  in  1688,  the  founder 
of  the  Academy  of  Painting,  and  who  may  with 
truth  be  called  the  Winkelmann  of  his  age,  was 
not  satisfied  with  this  inscription,  and  added  two 
others,  in  one  of  which  he  calls  Diirer  "  The 


12  TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE. 

Prince  of  Artists."  He  also  caused  the  grave- 
stone to  be  renewed,  and  placed  it  as  it  now 
stands. 

The  Pirkheimers  were  a  family  of  considerable 
wealth  and  importance  in  Nurnberg,  and  Durer's 
friend  was  in  every  way  the  means  of  his  advance- 
ment in  early  life.  But  Diirer  himself  was  for 
many  years  in  easy  circumstances,  although  he 
always  lived  with  the  utmost  frugality.  His  dis- 
position was  naturally  cheerful,  and  his  conversa- 
tion so  agreeable  that  his  society  was  much  sought 
after,  and  he  was  for  many  years  chief  magistrate 
of  his  native  city.  Pirkheimer  deeply  lamented 
his  friend,  whom  he  survived  only  three  years. 

One  word  as  to  the  translation.  The  volume  of 
Schefer's  Novels  containing  the  following  story,  fell 
into  my  hands  about  two  years  ago,  and  seemed 
to  me  to  possess  very  considerable  interest ;  but 
I  was  long  deterred  from  attempting  a  translation 
of  it,  by  the  great  difficulty  of  the  task.  I  have 
not,  I  do  not  pretend  to  have,  executed  it  well : 
of  this  at  least  I  am  certain,  that  I  have  not 
satisfied  myself.  I  fear  I  may  have  erred  in  be- 
ing too  literal ;  but  I  could  not  avoid  this  with- 
out frittering  away  what  appeared  to  me  to  be 


TRANSLATOR'S   PREFACE.  18 

the  charm  and  peculiarity  of  the  style.  Knowing 
all  its  defects,  I  have  only  to  plead  in  arrest  of 
judgment,  that  it  is  my  first  attempt  in  the  way 
of  translation,  that  the  author's  style  is  extremely 
elliptical,  and  his  meaning  in  many  parts  obscure. 
But  I  lost  myself  in  my  interest  in  the  subject ; 
and  have  only  now  to  hope  that  my  readers  will 
go  and  do  likewise. 

Edinburgh,  Feb.  1848. 


®2Uilifmltr  $frttf)efmer  to  tfje  ^ffneteentf)  <£eittur», 
Greeting : 

^AUNDAY  THURSDAY  had  passed 
away  into  Night :  my  House  was 
already  closed.  The  Lamp  shone 
from  the  arched  Roof  of  my  Chamber  upon  the 
Floor  below  :  I  stood  with  my  hot  Forehead 
leaning  on  the  cool  Panes  of  the  stained  Win- 
dow, and  through  the  Points  of  colourless  Glass 
gazed  at  the  dark  Clouds  as  they  sailed  over  the 
full  Moon.  My  Soul  was  sorrowful,  for  my 
Friend,  the  dear  Master  Albert  Durer,  lay  on 
his  Death-bed.  I  reflected  on  the  course  of  our 
past  Lives :  how  dear,  how  kind,  how  precious, 
he  had  been  to  me,  and  I  to  him — and  there 
he  lay  now!  The  World  looked  the  same  as 
ever;  the  Walls  shook  not,  nor  changed,  for 
as  fixedly  as  I  gazed  on  them;  and  yet  there 
was  a  Man  about  to  pass  away,  such  as 
Nurnberg  would  never  see  again.  Alas!  and 
I  too  remained  as  motionless.  I  had  not 


16  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER. 

visited  my  Friend  for  a  Year,  nor  he  me  ; 
and  when  I  saw  him  at  a  distance  on  the 
street,  tottering  along,  I  shunned  him,  and  had 
already  given  him  up  as  one  numbered  with 
the  Dead.  But  my  Anger  was  Love  towards 
him!  Anger  on  account  of  the  Weakness  I 
thought  I  discovered  in  him,  and  which  made 
him  wretched;  but  this  he  would  never  con- 
fess—  he  only  smiled.  But  when  I  saw  him 
becoming  each  time  paler;  the  Hand  with 
which  he  pressed  mine  ever  more  and  more 
wasted ;  then  did  I  bewail  the  Fate  of  the 
noble  Man,  "  the  Prince  of  Artists,"  as  he  was 
called.  He  read  in  my  Eyes  what  my  Heart 
was  bursting  to  say  to  him  again,  for  I  had 
already  said  it  a  hundred  times.  He  always 
evaded  the  subject  by  some  friendly  remark ; 
—  indeed,  so  accustomed  was  he  to  this,  that 
none  but  a  Friend,  such  as  myself,  could  tell 
how  much  the  habit  cost  him.  I  could  not 
look  upon  him  thus  going  down  to  the  Grave 
in  the  Prime  of  Life  and  the  Maturity  of  his 
Powers,  like  a  Tree  when  bringing  forth  goodly 
Fruit  —  so  I  thought  it  better  not  to  see  him 
again  at  all.  He  read  the  Heart  of  his  Friend, 
and  shunned  me  also.  All  this  he  endured, 


TO  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.       17 

until  at  length  his  Heart  had  become  thor- 
oughly like  unto  refined  Gold;  He  had  been 
changed  into  a  mild  smiling  Image  of  Pa- 
tience, and,  by  virtue  of  the  patient  Sufferings 
of  a  Lifetime,  had  this  advantage  over  others, 
that  he  awaited  Death  with  a  calm  and  smil- 
ing Countenance.  For  this  I  often  considered 
him  wise  and  happy ;  and  yet  at  the  same 
time  my  Heart  was  rebellious.  Now,  however, 
during  those  latter  Days,  since  he  had  been 
laid  on  his  Deathbed,  I  had  no  longer  any 
Peace.  Often  had  I  gone  to  his  Door,  and 
lifted  the  Knocker  —  then  let  it  gently  down 
again,  and  hastened  away,  as  quickly  as  an  old 
Man  might.  But  if  at  any  time  I  resolved 
not  to  go  to  him,  then  rny  Heart  was  ready 
to  burst,  and  I  could  find  rest  nowhere.  As 
for  him,  he  was  satisfied  with  everything ; 
nothing  could  now  befal  him  which  was  not 
welcome  and  good ;  and  I  almost  persuaded 
myself  that  he  was  equally  satisfied  with  what- 
ever I  did,  or  left  undone. 

This  evening,  however,  some  Foreigners  de- 
voted to  the  Arts  had  arrived  to  see  the  Father 
and  Master  of  the  German  Artists.     They  pro- 
posed to  serenade  him  —  then  went  I  weeping 
2 


18  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER 

away,  and  thought  of  the  Friend  who  this 
very  Night  perhaps  might  depart  thither  — 
where  the  Moon  was  floating  among  the  gold- 
en Clouds ;  that  Moon  which  still  shone  young 
and  full  over  our  heads,  growing  grey  with 
Years,  and  which  almost  appeared  to  me  at 
that  moment  like  a  Spirit.  I  was  deeply 
moved  when  I  called  to  mind  the  tender  feel- 
ing Words  in  which  some  unknown  human 
Heart  had  found  an  Utterance : 

Here  dies  a  Mortal  — What  hath  Nature  lost? 
Her  hundred  thousand  Children  comfort  her; 
The  Heaven  with  her  eternal  Stars  remains 
Serene  as  was  her  wont;   and  to  the  Moon 
Comes  no  Calamity:  she  still  shines  on. 
But  he,  the  Man  who  died,  he  was  my  Friend! 
I,  wretched,  such  a  Friend  find  not  again. 
So  to  the  smiling  Moon  and  Sky  serene 
I  weep  forlorn  —  Alas!   without  a  Friend! 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  sound  of  quick  Foot- 
steps on  the  Pavement  below.  I  saw  a  female 
Figure.  She  stood  still,  looked  up  to  the 
Moon,  wrung  her  Hands,  and  pressed  them 
to  the  Temples  of  her  reclining  Head.  Thus 
she  stood  for  a  long  Time :  then  suddenly 
recollecting  herself,  she  approached  the  Door 
of  my  House,  and  knocked.  The  Door  was 


TO  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.       19 

closed.     She  then  impatiently  pulled  the  bell, 

and  the  Sound  echoed  throughout  the  solitary 

Dwelling.     But  the  Shadow  which  fell  in  front 

of  me  on  the    Panes  of   Glass,  had   betrayed 

to  me  who  it  was.     She  knocked.     I  remained 

motionless.     She  called  out :  Master  Wilibald ! 

—  Pirkheimer !      Senator !      Master     Imperial 

Counsellor!  —  I  smiled  scornfully.     The  Voice 

was   the    Voice   of    the    beautiful   Agnes,   the 

Wife  of  my  dying   Friend  Albert  —  therefore 

I  hearkened  not.     Then,  heated  and  impatient 

as  she  was,  she  knocked  in  with  the  palm  of 

her  Hand  one  of  my  most  beautiful  Panes  of 

painted  Glass,  which  I  would  not  have  given 

for  a  hundred  Florins.     Are  you  asleep  ?    she 

then  called  in  to  me  with  her  beautiful  Voice ; 

are  you  dreaming  ?    Your  Friend,  your  Albert, 

is  at  the  point  of  Death,  and  entreats  you  to 

come  to  him.     Ah !  he  was  a  good  Man  after 

all!     These  words,  he  was!  pierced  me  to  the 

Heart.     They  spoke  of   the  Living  as  already 

among     the     Dead  —  and,    infected     by     her 

warmth,  I  struck  out  another   Pane  of   Glass 

with   the    Hand   that   held   my  bonnet,  which 

made    Mistress  Agnes   start  back.       God  will 

judge  you!   muttered  I.     But 1  come. 


20  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER 

Quickly,  then !  she  exclaimed,  and  disap- 
peared. 

I  heard  a  Window  shut  over  my  Head  — my 
unfortunate  sick  Sister  Clara,  in  former  times 
a  Nun,  but  who  had  now  returned  to  dwell 
under  my  Roof,  she  too  had  listened  to  all  this ! 
Oh  Heavens !  the  poor  dear  loving  One,  how 
would  she  feel,  now  that  Albert  was  dying ! 

I  left  everything  as  it  was,  scarcely  waiting 
to  secure  the  House,  and  hurried  away  to  the 
Corner- House  at  the  Zissel-  Gate  to  my  Friend 
Albert.  I  could  scarcely  support  myself  even 
by  clinging  to  the  smooth  time-worn  Railing 
of  the  Stairs ;  and  was  still  standing  before  the 
Door  of  the  spacious  Chamber,  which  lay  tow- 
ards the  right  hand,  when  suddenly  I  was 
overpowered  by  a  Flood  of  bitter  Tears :  I 
restrained  myself,  dried  my  Eyes  and  Cheeks, 
and  then  entered  gently  —  gently  approached 
the  Bed.  He  appeared  to  slumber. 

At  his  Feet,  in  a  Niche  in  the  Wall,  two 
wax-lights  were  burning  before  a  Picture.  It 
was  that  of  the  Master's  little  Daughter  in  her 
Coffin,  watched  over  by  an  Angel  holding  a 
Palm  Branch,  who,  only  half  visible  from  the 
left  side,  bent  over  the  small  sweet  Face  of 


TO  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.       21 

the  Child.  But  the  Face  of  the  Angel  was 
that  of  the  Mother  of  the  child,  the  beautiful 
Agnes  in  the  bloom  of  Youth,  with  an  expres- 
sion of  genuine  Sorrow  and  yet  of  saintlike 
Hope  faithfully  depicted  on  it.  On  the  Coffin 
were  painted  three  large  Brazen  Shields,  the 
centre  one  of  which  represented  the  Counte- 
nance of  the  Father,  Master  Albert  himself, 
with  his  Eyes  closed.  The  Shield  at  the  Head 
of  the  Child  bore  the  Face  of  Alberts  Mother 
Barbara :  and  the  one  at  the  Feet  that  of  her 
Husband,  the  Child's  Grandfather.  Here,  then, 
had  the  loving  Master  thus  sadly  and  beauti- 
fully conjoined  all  who  were  dearest  to  him  on 
Earth. 

Perhaps  he  might  just  now  have  been  con- 
templating that  Picture. 

I  gazed  on  him  mournfully.  There  rested  on 
the  red  silk  Coverlet  of  the  Bed  that  Hand  for- 
merly so  beautiful,  so  soft,  so  slight — but  how 
powerless  now !  There  it  now  rested  too  surely 
for  ever!-  His  Brow  was  as  serene,  and  the 
expression  of  his  Countenance  as  pleasing  and 
open  as'  ever.  His  slightly  aquiline  Nose  was 
still,  as  it  had  ever  been,  expressive  of  that 
calm  Courage  which  seemed  to  have  been 


22  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER 

given  him  for  the  purpose  of  Endurance  alone. 
His  ample  Hair  hung  on  each  side  in  Curls  on 
his  Shoulders ;  but  it  was  no  longer  dark-brown 
as  it  had  formerly  been  ;  it  was  now  grey.  The 
Beard  alone,  which  covered  the  Chin,  and  de- 
scended till  it  touched  the  middle  of  the  Throat, 
was  yet  dark.  His  benign  Eye  was  gently 
closed.  —  I  sighed. 

He  is  not  asleep,  said  Susanna,  the  Master's 
faithful  attendant,  now  grown  old  in  his  Ser- 
vice, and  who  had  noiselessly  approached  me, 
I  knew  not  from  whence ;  he  has  been  longing 
much  to  see  you ! 

Art  thou  come  at  last?  said  Albert,  smiling 
but  without  opening  his  Eyes.  He  held  out  his 
Hand  towards  me,  but  not  to  me,  for  I  gave 
him  mine,  and  immediately  he  opened  his  Eyes 
wide.  —  I  thought  it  was  Agnes  !  sighed  he,  al- 
most inaudibly;  and  behold!  it  is  my  Friend, 
my  Wilibald  !  She  —  she  is  afraid  to  stay  with 
me,  as  if  Death  could  approach  Men  visibly! 
Ah!  he  comes  from  the  Depths  within — out 
of  our  Life !  Believe  me,  Wilibald,  that  is  the 
doing  of  the  Lord.  He  alone  can  do*it;  such 
is  His  Will.  So  let  it  be!  No  one  can  kill 
Angels  —  we  die,  because  we  are  mortal.  Also 


TO   THE   NINETEENTH   CENTURY.  23 

no  one  can  destroy  us,  neither  suddenly  nor 
gradually;  he  can  only  shorten  Life,  nought 
else,  and  that  is  doing  little  or  nothing. 

He  ?  or  She  ?  Whom  dost  thou  mean,  thou 
ever  excellent  One  ?  asked  I  significantly. 

I  no  longer  mean  any  one,  said  he  in  a  tone 
of  resignation.  But  that  thou  also  shouldst  no 
longer  accuse  any  one  —  that  do  I  owe  to  her^ 
and  to  thee,  yea  to  myself.  Man,  who  stands 
in  need  of  Grace,  does  well  to  be  just.  This  is 
in  his  own  Power. 

He  now  gave  me  a  Key  from  the  golden 
Chain  which  hung  around  his  Neck.  In  doing 
this,  it  occurred  to  him  to  take  the  Chain  off 
altogether,  and  lay  it  aside ;  and  as  it  fell  link 
by  link  from  his  failing  Hand,  with  a  gentle 
sound  on  the  little  Table  beside  him,  I  felt 
nearly  frozen,  and  thought,  Thus  do  worldly 
Honours  depart  from  us  ! 

Long  mayst  thou  wear  thine!  resumed  Al- 
bert. In  Life  no  one  can  be  blamed  for  acting 
reasonably.  Here  is  now  the  Key.  Take  from 
my  Chest,  not  my  Book  of  Travels,  not  my 
Journal,  these  thou  knowest  already  —  but  the 
History  of  my  Married  Life.  Read !  —  preserve 
it.  Leave  it  in  Trust  to  some  widely-spread 


24  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER 

honourable  Family.  When  none  of  my  own 
are  remaining,  when  these  Leaves  have  become 
matter  of  History  alone,  when  they  are  no  long- 
er the  "  Goads  and  Nails "  *  of  the  Preacher, 
then  will  its  genuine  Truth  yet  speak  to  the 
Heart;  and  if  it  make  only  one  Wife  more 
patient  when  need  is,  only  one  Husband  more 
careful  to  perform  what  he  vowed  to  his  Wife 
before  God;  then  have  I  not  suffered  in  vain, 
as  I  in  vain  suffered.  For  whatever  makes  us 
better  —  is  good.  And  everything  can  do  this, 
if  we  so  will  it,  if  we  understand  it  aright. 

Good  Master — will  I  not  call  thee,  said  I 
with  emotion,  for  this  epithet  hath  a  Greater 
only  permitted  to  the  Greatest !  but  Faithful, 
Gentle,  Noble  Master,  Teacher,  Man,  and 
Friend ;  these  will  Posterity  recognise  in  thee, 
as  my  Tears  do  now. 

He  changed  the  subject  playfully,  and  said, 
If  thou  wilt  trust  me  with  a  little  Billet  to  thy 
alas  !  too-early-lost  Crescenzia  —  then  write  ! 
this  Night  it  will  be  delivered.  It  is  said  the 
Dead  have  this  power ;  but  they  are  silent 
Messengers  who  indeed  bring  no  answer.  For 
this  then  thou  must  pardon  me !  He  smiled, 

*  Ecclesiastes,  xii.  11. 


TO  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.       25 

and  pressed  the  Key  between  rny  Hands  with 
both  of  his,  whilst  we  gazed  into  each  other's 
Eyes. 

His  words  had  awakened  in  me  an  inex- 
pressible longing  after  my  excellent  Wife. 
Ah  !  she  was  good  —  hence  the  danger ;  since 
what  is  good  —  is  divine.  Ah  !  she  was  good 
and  —  gone.  I  lived!  Albert  was  dying  — 
his  Agnes  left  —  through  whom  his  Life  had 
been  shortened,  but  who  could  not  rob  him  of 
it,  as  he  himself  solemnly  affirmed. 

I  found  the  Manuscript  he  had  mentioned ; 
I  held  its  few  Leaves  in  my  Hand  —  how  heavy 
they  felt !  as  I  lifted  them  sighing,  and  with  a 
glance  at  my  Friend.  Wearied  by  the  exer- 
tion of  speaking,  he  had  fallen  into  a  Slumber, 
his  Hands  folded  on  the  Coverlet.  Exhausted 
also  by  night-watching,  Susanna,  with  her  Head 
buried  in  her  blue  apron,  sat  in  her  Master's 
velvet  Arm- Chair,  and  slept. 

And  thus,  surrounded  only  by  Sleepers  and 
by  Pictures  on  the  Wall,  I  sat  down  alone  at 
the  large  Table  with  the  green  Cover,  trimmed 
the  Lamp,  drew  it  nearer,  unfolded  and  read. 
What  I  then  thought,  I  afterwards  noted  down, 
adding  small  asterisks,  and  also  the  initials  of 


26  WILIBALD   PIRKHEIMER,   ETC. 

my  name,  a  W.  and  a  P.,  to  each  Note.  So 
much  for  thee,  dear  Reader,  in  the  Days  which 
to  me  are  no  Days ;  only  absolute  Time ;  only 
mysterious  Love  and  Blessedness,  and  Light 
and  Glory  —  but  without  thy  Sun  !  —  Yet 
read ! 


Married   Life   of  Master  A.    D. 

For  devout  Disciples  of  the  Arts,  prudent 

Maidens,  as  well   as    for  the  Profit  and 

Instruction    of   all    Christendom, 

given  to  the  Light. 

"  To  be  right  in  a  wrong  way —  is  wrong. " 

)HOULD  the  above  Initials  of  the 
Artist,  in  after  Years,  be  still  known 
among  Men,  then  will  they  also 
know  the  Name  of  the  Artist,  and  some 
may  even  be  led  to  inquire  as  to  the  ac- 
tual Life  of  the  Man.  For  the  Artist  has 
a  double  Existence ;  one  in  Imagination  and 
in  his  Works,  the  other  as  a  Man  in  his 
Home ;  and  each  pervades,  completes,  and  sup- 
ports the  other,  and  neither  is  long,  without 
the  other,  good  and  available.  Should  this 
Life,  then,  so  deeply  rooted  in  the  Earth,  be- 
come matter  of  curiosity- — and  when  his  Works 
have  been  contemplated,  the  Life  of  the  Mas- 
ter should  be  inquired  after  —  no  Account 


28  MARRIED   LIFE   OF  MASTER   A.  D. 

founded  on  any  solid  Basis  could  be  given ; 
for  those  who  knew  about  his  earthly  Life 
were  of  Earth,  like  himself.  But  they  might 
perhaps  hear  of  the  Sufferings  of  the  good 
Master;  might  perhaps  accuse  him  of  having 
been  no  faultless  Husband,  and  her  no  praise- 
worthy Wife.  God  forbid  !  —  and  may  these 
Words  interpose  like  a  Sword,  or  as  the  Angel 
with  the  flaming  Sword  before  this  lost  —  Para- 
dise !  The  Fantasies  of  the  Master  have  passed 
away  with  his  Soul ;  his  Works  bear  evidence 
of  his  Feelings,  of  his  Conceptions  of  Nature, 
of  his  Views  and  Capacities;  nay,  all  these 
they  in  a  great  measure  themselves  are ;  much 
also  of  his  Life  is  mingled  and  inseparably 
intertwined  with  these,  or  runs  through  them 
like  a  Woof;  of  this,  therefore,  let  nothing 
be  said:  Sentence  has  already  be-en  passed. 
But  the  following  was  written  by  his  better 
self,  when  having  fancied  himself  in  Suffering, 
he  thus  from  the  Fancy  actually  suffered,  and 
in  conquering  the  Fancy,  conquered  also  the 
Suffering.  This  then  was  his  Consolation :  to 
discover  the  Goodness,  the  integrity  of  his  Wife  ; 
to  unveil  her  deeply-concealed  Love,  and  with 
delight  to  acknowledge  it!  and  this  gave  him 


MARRIED   LIFE   OF   MASTER   A.  D.  29 

not  only   Courage  but  Joyfulness ;  so  that  his 
own  Love  had  again  free  scope,  and  what  he 
had  thought  and  felt  in  the  secret  Depths   of 
his   ever-imaginative    Mind,  afterwards   passed 
into  his  Fantasies,  unconsciously   moved   him 
to  create,  and  to  his  own  surprise  became  em- 
bodied in   his   Works.      Thus   does   the   wiser 
also  become  the  better  Artist.     His   Wisdom, 
however,  is  calm  Serenity  and  powerful  Love. 
He  who  beholds  all  things  clear  as  in  a  Glass, 
and  in  all  the  productions  of  his  creative  Power 
sees   only   a  reflection   of   himself  and   of   his 
Love  —  he   it   is  who  is  the  good,  the  happy } 
yea  the  highest  Artist.     We  are  but  Journey- 
men.* 

Everything  well  considered,  however,  it  is 
Treason  to  the  World  strictly  to  conceal  the 
Working  of  the  inner  Man.  The  mighty 
Events  in  the  outward  World,  Deeds  of  Vio- 
lence, Murders  and  Outrages,  these  serve  only 
to  startle  and  to  confound  —  Men  scarcely  com- 
prehend them !  and  fortunate  for  them  that  it  is 
so !  They  are  so  rarely  for  the  profit  of  Indi- 
viduals ;  —  should  they  then  be  perpetuated 
by  means  of  the  Arts  through  long  Ages  of  the 

*  Students  of  the  Arts,  Pupils.  —  W.  P. 


30 


MARRIED   LIFE   OF   MASTER   A.  D. 


World  for  many  Generations !  Far  from  it ! 
—  better  far  perpetuate  the  Human,  the  Or- 
dinary, yea  the  Everyday !  for  these  after  all 
are  not  so  evident  as  most  people  fancy.  In 
this  way  is  brought  to  light  what  is  in  Man, 
and  the  Minds  of  Men  are  thereby  advanced 
and  elevated!  and  if  all  that  comes  to  Light 
be  not  beautiful,  still  it  is  true,  and  leads  to 
Peace  and  Happiness. 


How   Master   Albert  took    unto   Him- 
self a    Wife. 


The  Countryman  he  wooes  his  Land ; 
The  Noble,  Rank  and  high  Command; 
The  Workman,  Home  and  Skill  of  Hand ; 
The  Merchant,  he  strives  Wealth  to  gain ; 
The  Painter's  bound  in  Beauty's  Chain;  — 
But  all  a  Wife  seek  to  obtain. 


T  Whitsunday  of  the  Year  1490? 
Albert  set  out  on  his  Travels  for 
the  study  of  the  Fine  Arts  ;  at 
Whitsunday  of  the  Year  1494  he  heard  again 
the  Stroke  of  the  Nurnberg  Clock. 

The  Joy  of  Meeting  is  well  worth  the  Pain 
of  Separation.  The  Father  had  bought  his 
Son  a  House,  had  given  him  his  own  Susan- 
no,,  a  poor  adopted  Child,  as  Housekeeper; 
had  provided  the  Rooms  thriftily  with  House- 
hold Furniture;  Contentment  and  Happiness, 
Industry  and  Art  —  these  he  brought  with  him  ; 
and  now  was  he  in  very  deed  to  become  a 
Painter  in  the  City  of  the  Twelve  Hills. 
His  Father  took  him,  dressed  in  his  best, 


32         HOW  MASTER  ALBERT  TOOK 

first  of  all  to  the  House  of  his  Godfather  An- 
ton  Koburger,  who  took  great  Delight  in  him  ; 
afterwards  to  all  the  Members  of  that  Body, 
of  which  his  Father  was  also  one.  From  the 
House  of  Master  Michael  Wohlgemuth,  the 
Painter,  Engraver,  and  Woodcutter,  with  whom 
Albert  for  three  Years,  beginning  in  the  Year 
1486,  had  diligently  and  painfully  studied,  be- 
cause he  had  had  much  to  endure  from  his 
fellow- workmen,  they  crossed  the  Street  to  the 
House  of  the  lively  Harp-player  and  Singer, 
Hanns  Frei,  who  was  also  an  Optician.  But 
among  the  most  bewitching  Works  in  the 
heavenly  Workshop  of  the  heathen  God  He- 
phastus  could  no  such  living  Miracle  have 
stood,  as  was  now  to  be  seen  in  the  House 
of  Hanns  Frei,  in  the  Person  of  his  Daughter 
Agnes,  a  young  Niirnberg  Maiden  of  fifteen, 
who  was  playing  on  the  Harp. 

Is  it  possible  that  Nurnberg  contains  such 
a  beautiful  Maiden  ?  said  he  to  himself.  I 
thought  I  had  left  them  all  in  Italy,  beyond 
Mestre.  Have  I  got  back  my  Senses  and  my 
Heart  ?  as  if  suddenly  borne  after  me  into 
my  Home  by  a  Dove !  have  I  my  Eyes  again  ? 
The  Voice  which  I  heard  before  the  Door  was 


UNTO   HIMSELF   A   WIFE.  33 

opened,  was  it  not  one  of  those  Angel  Voices  ? 
Only  this  modest  Blush  on  the  lily  Cheeks 
was  not  to  be  seen  there !  nor  the  timid  Eye 
turned  towards  the  ground,  covered  by  a 
large  Eyelid  like  a  Bell-flower !  and  as  if  bor- 
dered by  long  Eye-lashes !  What  a  Picture ! 
— what  a  Delight — a  Wife!  a  Heaven  upon 
Earth  —  in  Nurnberg  !  Oh  thou  dear  native 
Town! 

These  Thoughts  and  Feelings  passed  as 
quickly  through  the  Mind  of  the  young  Mas- 
ter, as  a  golden  Cloud  flies  through  the 
Heavens  ;  but  they  left  a  Shadow  behind  :  for 
Love  is  no  Cloud,  but  the  Polar  Star,  amidst 
the  splendour  and  radiance  of  the  Northern- 
light* 

He  shall  paint  thee,  dear  Agnes,  said  Albert's 
Father.  —  She  raised  her  Eyes,  and  looked 
gloomily  at  me.f 

Now,  Daughter,  said  Master  Frei,  do  not 
look  quite  so  angry  about  the  matter  —  there 
will  be  time  enough  for  that  in  Master  Albert's 
Dwelling. 

For   Painting?    or  for  looking   angry?    said 

*  This  star  is  also  often  called  the  little  Bear.  —  W.  P. 
t  This  "  me  "  betrays  the  Autobiography.  —  W.  P. 

3 


34        HOW  MASTER  ALBERT  TOOK 

Agnes  to  him,  quickly  changing  colour  from 
the  most  glowing  Red  to  snow-white  Paleness. 

She  looked  meanwhile  somewhat  smilingly  at 
the  young  Albert,  and  at  the  same  time  gently 
shook  her  head,  as  if  warning  him  not  to  be- 
lieve what  her  Father  had  said.  For  that 
was  quite  another  matter,  and  must  take 
place  and  unfold  itself  in  a  very  different 
manner.  The  Father  was  blowing  the  Rose 
open  violently;  but  genial  Warmth  and  Dew 
alone  could  unfold  it  by  degrees,  and  cause 
it  to  open  its  Heart  and  give  forth  its  Per- 
fume, so  that  it  might  not  fade  away  before 
next  morning,  leaving  no  Perfume  behind. 

All  was  now  made  evident  to  Albert,  when 
his  Father  said  to  the  Father  of  Agnes,  I 
have  done  my  part,  I  have  given  him  a  toler- 
able Establishment;  the  young  Wife  will  do 
the  rest  according  to  her  own  wishes  and  de- 
sires. For  all  married  Pairs  have  their  own 
fancies,  as  to  how  the  Table  must  stand,  and 
where  the  Bed,  so  that  the  Cradle  may  not 
knock  against  it ;  we  and  our  better  Halves 
have  also  enjoyed  this  Right  in  our  Day. 

Thou  shalt  have  two  hundred  Florins  for 
thy  Portion,  my  Daughter,  said  Father  Frei, 


UNTO   HIMSELF   A   WIFE.  35 

smiling.  And  now  join  hands !  We  have 
betrothed  you  already  in  our  own  Minds ; 
let  it  be  done  now  also  in  reality,  in  order 
that  we  may  see  you  ratify  what  we  from 
old  Friendship  and  before  God  have  pur- 
posed. 

Albert  could  not  think  of  saying  No  to  such 
a  beautiful  Creature  as  Agnes,  nor  yet  could 
Agnes  to  him.  She  should  have  given  him  her 
Hand,  but  stood  still  like  an  immoveable  Work 
of  Hephastus,  grave  Bashfulness  depicted  in  her 
nobly-formed  Countenance.  Her  Father  made 
a  Sign  to  her ;  —  without  moving,  she  allowed 
the  youth  of  twenty-three  to  take  her  Hand>  but 
she  pressed  his  so  suddenly  and  so  vehemently,, 
that  he  started,  and  gazed  into  the  Eyes  of  the 
inexplicable  Child.  She  sighed,  her  youthful 
Bosom  stood  upheaved  from  suppressed  breath- 
ing, Tears  streamed  from  her  dark  Eyelids ;  she 
disengaged  herself  and  hastened  away. 

It  is  just  the  Nature  of  all  such,  said  Master 
Frei,  comforting  him.  He  pressed  him  to  his 
Bosom,  and  gave  him  now  his  Blessing  alone.. 
—  She  has  had  hers  already  by  her  Obedience 
to  my  Will,  said  he.  Master  Wohlgemuth  has 
presented  you  both  with  Rings.  Therefore  be 


36         HOW  MASTER  ALBERT  TOOK 

of  good  cheer  !  *  and  go  into  the  Garden,  and 
persuade  the  little  Maiden  there  to  take  one  of 
them  —  or  lay  it  down  beside  her.  It  is  not  the 
Nature  of  such  to  leave  it  lying.  From  you 
certainly  not! 

Albert  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Agnes  was 
reclining  in  an  Arbour,  her  Head  resting  on  the 
Bosom  of  her  Sister,  who  looked  at  him,  and 
smiled  thoughtfully,  but  at  the  same  time  as 
one  who  was  much  offended.  Agnes  did  not 
rise,  but  she  raised  her  Eyes  to  her  Bridegroom, 
and  they  rested  full  on  him,  and  she  seemed 
desirous  of  keeping  his  Look  firmly  fixed  on  her- 
self. For  beside  the  Sisters  sat  another  beauti- 
ful Maiden  called  Clara,  who  was  the  Sister  of 
Wilibald  Pirkheimer,  as  Albert  learned  forth- 
with. When,  however,  Agnes  saw  how  he 
gazed  at  the  Maiden,  and  as  an  Artist  dwelt 
with  Delight  on  her  fair  Countenance  and  deli- 
cate Form,  she  drew  in  her  Ring- Finger.  But 
when  Clara  took  hold  of  her  little  Hand,  Agnes 
seemed  to  have  no  longer  Power  to  withhold 
it,  and  Clara  placed  the  Ring  gravely  on  her 
Friend's  Hand.  Then  they  all  three  arose  and 
walked  away,  Agnes  in  the  middle ;  meanwhile 

*  Wohlyemuth  means  "  Be  of  good  cheer."  —  Translator's  Note. 


UNTO   HIMSELF   A   WIFE.  37 

Albert  looked  on  the  Ground,  then  glanced  after 
them,  then  looked  down  again,  and  remained  so 
standing  with  closed  Eyes,  and  full  of  contend- 
ing Emotions. 

His  Father  was  the  first  to  rouse  the  Dreamer. 
Well,  my  Son,  have  I  not  chosen  well  for  thee  ? 
asked  he  with  a  satisfied  air. 

Well !  beautifully !  —  and  yet  not  well !  re- 
plied he. 

Happy,  said  his  Father,  are  the  Parents  who 
can  rely  on  their  Sons  and  Daughters,  and 
bring  them  up  well,  so  that  a  Father's  Will 
should  not  only  be  salutary  for  them,  but  ap- 
pear to  be  so  to  them.  Does  not  the  Father  of 
us  all  choose  Time  and  Place  for  us  ?  Does  He 
not  provide  all  that  is  to  meet  our  Eye  in  our 
own  Days  ?  There  is  no  other  Leaf,  nor  Cloud, 
nor  Wife  nor  Child,  nor  Husband,  to  be  seen, 
than  those  He  has  chosen  for  us.  And  will  He 
change  them  forsooth  on  our  account?  He 
creates  them  according  to  His  own  will,  and 
yet  He  devotes  them  to  our  use.  What  then 
can  have  been  His  Intention  ?  He  has  loved  us 
only  —  designs  that  we  should  love  Him,  and 
that  what  He  has  created  should  be  worthy  of 
our  Love,  just  because  it  is  His  Gift !  —  My 


38         HOW  MASTER  ALBERT  TOOK 

Son,  be  sure  to  let  that  be  your  Thought  in 
Everything :  think  thus  of  thy  Father ;  and  also 
of  thy  young  Wife ;  and  if  it  be  not  so,  still  it 
might  and  should  be  so.  My  Father  pointed 
out  a  Maiden  to  me ;  I  reverenced  his  Will,  and 
she  became  my  Wife.  As  I  became  reconciled 
to  her  name  —  for  she  was  called  Barbara  — 
then  being  reconciled,  began  to  love  it,  because 
I  loved  her,  because  my  Father  loved  her — so 
wilt  thou  also  love  the  beautiful,  singular, 
modest,  prudish  Agnes.  She  will  be  faithful  to 
thee,  for  her  Mother  is  an  excellent  Woman. 
He  who  chose  for  me,  however,  was  only  my 
Master,  Hieronymus  Haller,  my  Father  in  the 
Arts :  thine  is  thy  own  Father ! 

She  is  only  fifteen  years  old!  said  Albert 
mildly. 

My  Son,  said  the  Father,  that  is  the  right  Age 
at  which  a  Man  attaches  to  himself  not  only  the 
first  awakening  of  the  Heart,  of  the  Eyes,  and 
of  all  the  Senses,  but  even  the  Dreams  of  his 
Wife,  and  her  pure  and  single  Love.  And 
should  she  afterwards  think  and  feel  otherwise 
—  behold!  she  is  already  bound  by  rosy  Fetters! 
Little  Arms  are  twined  around  her  Neck,  her 
House  demands  her  Care  during  the  Day, 


UNTO    HIMSELF   A   WIFE.  89 

Night  calls  for  Repose.  Thus  she  grows  up 
with  her  Children,  and  when  she  sees  in  her 
Boys  and  Girls  the  Love  they  bear  to  their 
Father,  she  cannot  fail  to  learn  it  from  them ! 
and  when  they  cling  around  his  Knees,  and  she 
twines  her  Arms  around  his  Neck,  and  both  look 
down  on  the  beloved  little  Ones  whom  the  one 
owes  to  the  other  alone  —  what  must  she  feel  ? 
And  mark  well,  —  nothing  is  strange  to  her; 
no  Allurement  has  Novelty  to  offer,  no  Novelty 
anything  better  or  more  blessed  than  what  she 
may  enjoy  in  Peace  and  Tranquillity,  giving 
Thanks  to  God! 

I  am  only  three  and  twenty  years  old,  said 
Albert  again. 

My  Son,  said  he,  that  is  the  right  age  at 
which  a  Wife  may  hope  to  have  her  Husband 
long  spared  to  her.  The  Husband  is  a  Father ; 
Years  do  not  fail  him  in  the  beginning,  as  they 
do  alas !  at  last ;  when  such  a  want  leads  only  to 
Disappointment  and  Misery.  I  married  a  Wife 
of  fifteen,  when  I  was  already  older  than  thou 
art.  Thou  knowest  I  have  dedicated  eighteen 
Children  to  the  Lord  at  the  baptismal  Font; 
that  is  a  Harvest  for  me  in  Heaven !  I  have 
brought  up  eighteen  human  Beings  I  know  not 


40        HOW  MASTER  ALBERT  TOOK 

how  ;  that  is  a  Harvest  for  me  on  Earth  !  We 
were  young  with  the  Mother — Suffering  was 
light,  Happiness  was  Felicity!  The  Mother 
took  as  much  pleasure  in  decking  herself  as 
her  Girls  ;  the  Father  was  brisk  and  nimble, 
playing  about  with  his  little  Boys,  willing  to 
cover  the  Ball  with  network,  or  to  fly  the  Kite. 
We  were  only  like  an  elder  Sister  and  Brother; 
that  thou  thyself  knowest.  And  if  thy  Love  to 
me  was  so  much  greater  than  that  of  other 
Children  to  their  Parents,  consider  that  it  arose 
hence,  that  when  thou  wert  older,  I  continued 
to  be  thy  Friend,  yea  thy  Confident;  consider 
that  it  arose  hence,  that  thou  indeed  didst  be- 
come older,  but  I  —  not  old !  so  it  ought  to  be 
—  then  is  the  married  State  not  a  sorrowful 
State ;  *  then  the  Father's  Head  does  not  ache 
from  the  noise  of  his  Children ;  he  does  not 
strike  them  at  random  and  without  feeling,  nor 
call  desiring  them  to  sit  still  and  be  quiet  — 
Education,  nor  Fear  —  Obedience !  then  Boys 
do  not  weep  or  sneak  around  a  grey-haired  old 
Man,  and  wander  over  the  Earth  when  deprived 
of  him  without  Counsel  or  Support.  Then  he 

*  The  Germans  have  a  Proverb:  —  ^Ehestand  ist  Wehestand:  " 
''The  married  state  is  a  sorrowful  state."  —  Translator's  Note. 


UNTO   HIMSELF   A   WIFE.  41 

rocks  the  Cradle  of  his  Grandchildren !  —  Oh 
the  Delight  of  Man !  and  though  he  should  de- 
part hence,  the  Trees  still  bloom  around,  and 
blessed  is  his  House  !  Therefore  —  Early  woo, 
never  rue. 

These  fatherly  Words  overcame  the  loving 
Son ;  his  Father's  Will  became  his  Will,  and 
he  hoped  that  it  would  also  become  his  Hap- 
piness. For  his  Agnes  was  beautiful  —  only  he 
knew  not  how  he  had  acquired  the  Treasure, 
since  Angels  are  no  longer  to  be  seen  on  Earth. 
It  had  come  to  him  so  suddenly,  but  so  much 
the  more  wished  for,  and  his  Heart,  softened  by 
the  contemplation  of  Beauty  in  Italy,  wound 
itself  around  the  divine  Form  of  Agnes,  who 
had  been  sent  to  him  as  it  were  from  Heaven, 
by  the  Hand  of  his  Father.  But  the  beautiful 
Maiden,  who  appeared  to  be  favourable  towards 
him,  yet  felt  injured  in  womanly  Dignity,  hurt 
in  the  Purity  of  her  Love,  because  she  had  been 
constrained  to  yield  him  her  Hand,  before  hav- 
ing given  him  an  Answer  or  a  Smile,  and  was 
angry  with  him  that  he  had  so  received  such  a 
Gift;  and  angry  with  herself  that  her  Heart 
nevertheless  allured  her  towards  the  amiable 


42 


HOW   MASTER   ALBERT   TOOK   A   WIFE. 


Youth.  Love  desires  Freedom,  and  even  the 
appearance  of  Constraint  causes  Unhappiness, 
debases  —  the  nobler  the  Heart  is.* 

*  Here  a  good  Feeling  lay  as  a  good  Foundation  to  a  tottering 
Building.  -  W.  P. 


The  Honeymoon. 

JONES'S  Period  of  Betrothment  last- 
ed only  seven  "Weeks,  till  the  Day  of 
the  Seven  Brothers.*  The  Decision 
of  the  Parents  that  she  was  to  be  Alberts,  un- 
settled the  whole  calm  Course  of  her  Life ;  and 
now  there  could  never  more  be  any  bright  Be- 

*  The  10th  of  July.  These  seven  brothers  and  their  mother, 
St.  Felicitas,  suffered  martyrdom  in  the  second  century,  in  the 
reign  of  the  Emperor  Antoninus  Pius.  She  was  a  noble  and  pious 
Christian  widow,  resident  at  Rome,  and  employed  herself  wholly 
in  prayer,  fasting,  and  works  of  charity.  By  her  example  and 
that  of  her  whole  family,  many  were  induced  to  renounce  the 
worship  of  false  gods,  which  so  exasperated  the  heathen  priests, 
that  they  complained  to  the  Emperor,  who  being  somewhat  super- 
stitious himself,  sent  an  order  to  Publius  the  Prefect  to  take  care 
to  satisfy  the  priests  and  appease  the  gods  in  this  matter.  The 
mother  and  her  sons  were  therefore  brought  before  him,  but  re- 
fusing to  sacrifice  to  the  gods,  the  sons  were  all  condemned  to 
different  deaths,  and  their  mother  was  beheaded  four  months  after 
having  witnessed  and  rejoiced  in  the  martyrdom  of  her  children. 
St.  Felicitas  is  commemorated  in  the  Roman  Martyrology  on  the 
23d  of  November,  and  her  sons  on  the  10th  of  July.  See  Butler's 
"  Lives  of  the  Saints."  —  Translator. 


44  THE    HONEYMOON. 

ginning,  Foundation,  or  Progress  in  Love. 
Right  is  no  Law  for  Love ;  it  even  offends  the 
most  delicate  Mind.  Therefore  he  never  spoke 
of  his  relation  to  her ;  and  when  she,  in  the 
Levity  of  Youth,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all, 
then  she  opened  her  whole  Soul  to  him,  and  he 
read  deeply-concealed  Affection,  yea  even  strug- 
gling Love,  in  her  Eyes,  which  only  the  more 
suddenly  and  treacherously  broke  forth,  and 
drew  her  nearer  and  nearer  to  him,  even  into 
his  Arms,  till  Lip  clung  to  Lip  ;  —  then  she  tore 
herself  away  from  him,  and  was  for  whole  Days 
only  the  more  grave  and  silent. 

On  the  Wedding-Day  he  appeared  before 
her,  for  the  first  time  for  many  Days,  in  Bride- 
groom's Attire,  and  found  her  ready  dressed  in 
bridal  Pomp.  Thus  everything  seemed  to  be 
right,  now  and  for  ever.  From  that  time  all 
went  on  in  the  natural  order  of  things. 

It  rained. 

Even  that  did  not  put  her  out  of  humour,  for 
Rain  on  the  bridal  Day  promises  to  the  young 
pair —  Riches. 

And  now  the  beautiful  Agnes  stood  before 
the  Altar  in  the  Church  of  St.  Sebaldus.  One 
of  her  Cheeks  glowed  purple  red ;  the  other,  the 


THE    HONEYMOON.  45 

right,  which  was  turned  towards  him,  was  so 
much  the  paler.  Thus  to  the  audience  she  ap- 
peared as  if  ashamed  and  bashful.  Albert,  how- 
ever, during  the  singing  of  the  Hymn,  looked 
at  the  carved  work  of  the  Altar,  and  the  old 
stained  Glass  in  the  Windows,  and  greeted 
here  and  there  with  a  slight  nod  some  old 
Friend  of  his  youth,  who  saw  him  again  there 
that  Day  for  the  first  time,  and  joyfully  greeted 
him  from  among  the  Crowd.  Agnes  reproved 
him  for  this  by  a  slight  touch  of  the  Arm,  as 
showing  a  want  of  pious  Concentration  of 
Thought  on  the  important  Step  —  the  Spring's 
Equinox  or  the  Solstice  of  our  Life. 

But  how  remarkable  were  the  Words  which 
the  Godly  Man  chose  as  a  Text  for  his  ceremo- 
nial Address !  and  yet  how  deep  and  beautiful, 
by  means  of  the  Expounding  and  Application 
of  them  to  us  —  and  our  small  Hopes !  for  they 
were  these :  — 

"  Be  not  forgetful  to  entertain  Strangers,  for 
thereby  some  have  entertained  Angels  una- 
wares." * 

The  Bride  gazed  at  her  future  Husband, 
whom  she  ought  to  entertain  like  an  Angel ;  he 

*  Some!  I  have  done  so.—  W.  P. 


46  THE    HONEYMOON. 

smiled  upon  her  whom  he  was  to  entertain  as 
an  Angel;  and  the  looks  of  both  sunk  to  the 
ground  before  each  other. 

They  received  many  and  distinguished  Guests 
from  the  City  at  the  House  of  the  Bride,  and 
both  accepted  of  the  Congratulations  with  visi- 
ble emotion.  The  Bride  sat  at  table  next  to 
the  Bridegroom  with  a  stiff  demeanour.  She 
would  not  allow  the  Myrtle  Wreath  to  be  taken 
off  her  little  stubborn  Head,  and  an  old  Lady 
excused  her  by  saying,  Everything  has  its 
Time !  —  Thereupon  Agnes  tore  it  herself  from 
among  her  Locks. 

God  preserve  us !  muttered  the  horrified  old 
Lady. 

At  the  end  of  the  last  course  we  heard  a 
Cry,  which  proceeded  from  under  the  table.  It 
turned  out  that  it  had  been  uttered  by  my  best 
Friend :  his  Face  was  bleeding ;  he  went  com- 
posedly towards  the  Door.  Agnes  half  laughed, 
half  cried. 

I  arose  and  followed  him.  He  was  sitting 
on  the  stone  Seat  under  the  Arch  of  the  Door- 
way. 

It  is  an  old  Custom  —  which  I  certainly  can- 
not commend  —  that  some  one  should  distribute 


THE    HONEYMOON.  47 

to  every  one  of  the  Guests  a  little  bit  of  the 
Bride's  Garter,  said  he;  but,  Albert,  you  may 
rely  upon  this  —  you  will  suffer  much,  but  you 
will  have  a  faithful  Wife. 

The  Bridegroom  excused  her,  not  without 
smiling. 

But  the  other  proceeded:  —  For  whatever 
Woman,  and  more  especially  a  young  one, 
thinks  so  peculiarly,  and  thrusts  from  her  so 
vigorously  with  her  little  bold  Foot  an  honest 
old  Custom,  thinking  nothing  of  Gibes  and  Up- 
roar, she  is  in  my  opinion  worthy  of  particular 
Honour.  I  am  myself  amazed,  now  I  think  of 
it.  If  a  Custom  prevails  around  us  as  clearly 
and  evidently  as  Sunshine,  then  it  is  still  a 
valid  and  living  one.  But  things  are  changed 
now !  The  World  judges  of  the  propriety  of 
these,  and  sometimes  takes  advantage  of  them 
perversely  —  and  fettered  by  the  restraint  of 
Custom,  which  no  Woman  can  openly  throw 
off  without  exciting  Laughter,  many  make 
grievous  Sacrifices  thereto !  —  The  bold  Bride 
is  in  the  right —  I  prophesy  you  Happiness  and 
Unhappiness.  Now  Good-night ! 

He  then  went  away,  his  Face  concealed  in 
his  Handkerchief,  and  muttering  through  his 


48  THE    HONEYMOON. 

teeth.  The  Servant  hastily  seized  the  unlight- 
ed  Lantern,  and  carried  it  before  him  in  a  very 
odd  manner.* 

Albert  went  in  perplexed  ;  some  of  the  Guests 
crowded  past  him  ;  the  Company  had  all  broken 
up,  and  departed  with  brief  and  quiet  Greet- 
ings, or  with  no  Greeting  at  all. 

Thus  the  spacious  decked-out  apartment  was 
now  empty.  The  Bride  still  sat  in  her  place, 
and  nibbled  crumbs  of  pastry.  The  Bridegroom 
placed  himself  beside  her.  She  was  silent,  and 
he  spoke  not. 

I  am  heartily  sorry !  exclaimed  Hanns  Frex, 
the  Father-in-law,  who  was  standing  by  himself 
in  the  apartment.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  drink  all 
that !  That  delightful  Meat  and  Pastry  look  at 
me  in  vain,  and  cannot  gain  over  my  Heart  to 
any  feeling  of  compassion.  But  I  will  not  be 
deprived  of  the  Grandfather's  Dance !  Halloo ! 
strike  up,  Pipers !  strike  up,  Fiddlers !  One 
Man  is  still  a  Man.  When  I  am  tired,  then 
you  shall  have  your  Holiday. 

The  Music  resounded.  The  Crowd  looked 
in  at  the  lighted  Windows.  Father  Frei  grave- 

*  The  Servant  was  mine!    and  now  I  must  freely  confess,  it 
was  my  Nose  which  bled!  —  W.  P. 


THE    HONEYMOON.  49 

ly  led  up  his  Wife  to  the  Dance ;  she  obeyed 
with  difficulty,  and  the  somewhat  aged  Pair 
danced  to  the  old  Rhyme  and  the  old  Tune  : 

When  the  Grandfather  the  Grandmother  led  up  with  glee, 
Then  the  Grandfather  once  more  a  Bridegroom  was  he! 

A  Bridegroom !  a  Bridegroom !  repeated  the 
Crowd  at  the  outside  of  the  Windows,  at  the 
same  time  clapping  their  Hands.  The  Grand- 
father in  spe  laughed  and  wept;  the  Mother  be- 
came giddy,  sat  down  —  and  the  Marriage  was 
over. 

Father  Albert  visited  his  Son  for  the  first 
time  on  the  sixth  Sunday  after  the  Marriage. 
He  found  him  alone,  sat  down,  looked  at  him 
smilingly,  and  said  : 

Now,  my  dear  Son,  how  goes  it?  Well? 
Thou  hast  now  become  quite  another  Man ; 
thou  art  now  a  Husband.  Oh  the  Honeymoon ! 
the  Honeymoon !  on  it  depends  for  ever  the 
Happiness  of  Wedlock.  If  a  Jacob  serve  seven 
Years  for  a  Rachel,  and  again  seven  Years,  still 
he  only  serves,  still  he  only  comes  to  know  the 
Bride,  but  not  the  Wife.  The  Bride  shows  her- 
self only  as  she  would  like  to  be  seen,  and  so 
does  the  Bridegroom :  there  is  nothing  then  but 
4 


50  THE    HONEYMOON. 

soft  talking,  smiling,  complaisance,  feeling  and 
giving  Delight  —  a  dreamlike  condition.  Happy 
are  they  who  thus  die!  yet  it  shall  not  so  be, 
for  they  must  live.  But  the  Husband  and  Wife 
have  dwelt  and  been  educated  in  different 
Houses ;  they  have  acquired  different  habits  and 
even  many  peculiarities,  which  have  taken  such 
deep  root  within  them  that  they  cannot  be 
eradicated,  and  which  they  will  carry  about 
with  them  through  Life.  And  now  the  Wife 
must  learn  the  peculiarities  of  her  Husband, 
and  bear  with  him ;  and  he  in  like  manner  with 
those  of  his  Wife.  And  how  is  this  effected? 
Nature  places  them  in  the  School  of  Love,  and 
in  the  midst  of  glowing  Feelings  and  blissful 
Fascination  she  gently  displays  to  each  the 
Habits  and  Merits  and  Manner  of  Existence  of 
the  other,  accustoms  him  smilingly  and  imper- 
ceptibly to  the  Occupations,  and  even  to  taste 
and  praise  the  favourite  Dishes  of  the  other,  and 
to  consider  that  which  is  foreign  to  his  habits, 
and  even  repulsive  to  him,  not  only  endurable 
but  pleasant,  for  the  sake  of  the  Beloved.  Each 
comes  to  the  knowledge  of  all  this  during  the 
blissful  Dream  of  Love,  takes  it  kindly,  and 
blends  himself  therewith  in  that  rosy  time  when 


THE    HONEYMOON.  51 

all  is  forgiven  —  all,  even  if  he  were  the  Child 
of  a  Murderer.  And  this  happy  Fascination, 
this  bewitching  Captivity,  lasts  long  enough  to 
stamp  the  Nature  of  the  one  upon  the  other, 
half  unconsciously,  but  to  entire  Satisfaction. 
Thus  then  they  live  placidly  together  and  with 
a  perfect  Understanding,  and  love  each  other 
for  their  Faults  as  well  as  for  their  Virtues.  Is 
it  not  so,  my  son  ?  for  Marriage  is  a  beautiful 
Union,  in  which  the  Husband  and  Wife,  hav- 
ing been  joined  for  ever  by  Heaven,  turn  to  the 
noblest  Ends  of  Humanity  whatever  there  may 
be  that  is  peculiar  in  the  Heartland  Mind  of 
each,  all  finely  blended  together  by  Love. 

He  then  looked  around  him  in  the  House, 
and  went  into  the  different  Apartments,  found 
and  greeted  his  Daughter-in-law,  and  with  these 
fair  and  wise  Words  he  had,  according  to  his 
own  opinion,  defined  and  settled  the  whole 
condition  of  the  young  Pair. 

But  it  was  not  so !  Now  was  the  Artisfs 
Married  Life  begun ;  and  the  question  arises, 
whether  even  the  most  loving  Maiden  can 
thoroughly  understand  him.  She  has  a  Life- 
time in  which  to  study  him,  as  he  has  also 
to  study  himself  and  Life.  All  other  Men  are 


52  THE   HONEYMOON. 

conceivable  and  penetrable  in  their  Bearing 
and  in  their  Mind ;  the  Artist  is  a  Flower 
which  blooms  from  one  Development  into  an- 
other as  long  as  he  lives.  And  if  he  shut  up 
his  blooming  Heart,  then  he  is  dead.  And  his 
Works  are  the  Stamina  of  the  Flower  evolved 
into  Seed,  which  the  Wind  sows  over  the 
Earth,  and  bloweth  —  where  it  listeth.  There- 
fore to  be  the  Wife  of  such  an  one,  Patience 
is  needed,  and  nothing  can  nurse  the  Plant 
but  the  heavenly  Patience  of  a  faithful  foster- 
ing Hand. 

The  beautiful  Agnes  had  entered  as  it  were 
into  a  new  Sphere  —  a  magic  Sphere  for  her. 
There  was  scarcely  anything  she  understood, 
or  as  to  which  she  could  take  an  interest  in 
her  Husband,  otherwise  than  as  a  gentle,  care- 
ful Wife.  And  yet  she  wished  to  do  so ;  for 
in  her  concealed  Love  for  her  Husband,  noth- 
ing was  indifferent  to  her  which  moved  his 
Soul  or  filled  his  Heart.  And  many  things,  so 
much  that  was  enigmatical  to  her,  appeared  to 
move  his  Soul  and  to  fill  his  Heart !  And  she 
alone  thought  to  fill  that  Heart !  while  he  ap- 
peared to  know  and  silently  to  worship  a  still 
deeper  and  more  holy  Power  than  her  and  her 


THE   HONEYMOON.  53 

Love,  yea  the  Godly,  the  Immortal,  the  Mys- 
terious. Then  again  everything  peculiar  in  his 
inward  bent  and  manner  of  thinking  appeared 
so  clearly,  and  yet  also  so  doubtfully  and  im- 
penetrably to  her  Mind,  to  have  its  Founda- 
tion in  the  World  around,  and  to  be  closely 
connected  therewith,  that  it  was  often  well 
with  her  and  often  seething  hot.  But  as  a 
Wife,  all  she  cared  about  was  his  Love  —  of 
that  alone  she  wished  to  be  certain.  She 
concluded,  therefore,  the  Honeymoon  in  this 
wise,  that  one  Night  she  fell  sick.  The  Mas- 
ter was  greatly  alarmed.  She  longed  for  some 
Groundsel  Tea.  But  nothing  was  to  be  found 
—  no  Frying-pan,  no  Chips,  no  Coals;  every- 
thing seemed  to  have  vanished.  Susanna  ap- 
peared. And  now  sat  the  good  Master,  and 
held  the  little  Pot  with  Water  over  the  flame 
of  the  Lamp  to  boil,  till  it  became  too  hot  for 
his  Fingers,  and  then  Susanna  held  it  by  the 
Handle  till  it  was  too  hot  for  her  again,  and 
willingly  the  Master  took  it  in  his  turn.  Thus 
they  both  sat,  talking  in  an  undertone,  and 
looking  at  each  other  with  anxious  counte- 
nances, till  it  boiled.  When,  however,  Su- 
sanna was  gone,  and  he  carried  the  bitter 


54  THE   HONEYMOON. 

Beverage  to  his  dear  beautiful  Agnes,  there  she 
lay  laughing  under  the  Coverlet.  She  flung 
her  Arms  round  his  Neck,  and  said,  I  only 
wished  to  see  whether  thou  really  carest  for 
me!  Now  drink  thine  own  Groundsel,  to  cure 
thy  Fright!  And  he  drank,  whilst  she  blew 
upon  his  smarting  Fingers,  kissing  meanwhile 
the  Points  of  them. 

Ah !  the  Sceptic !  that  was  certainly  a  very 
mischievous  Deed !  —  unimportant,  it  is  true  — 
yea  lovely  to  behold,  like  a  glittering  Ring 
around  a  young  Bough  in  early  Spring.  But 
it  will  become  a  Nest  full  of  Caterpillars,  and 
deprive  the  Tree  of  its  Adornment  just  at  the 
time  when  it  should  bloom  most  luxuriantly. 


The  Year  of  Strife. 

|LL  good  men  have  known  the 
blessing  of  profound  Sleep.  To 
that  silent  holy  Kingdom,  full  of 
Thoughts  and  Images,  from  which  they  at  the 
first  as  Children  wonderfully  endowed  entered 
into  Life,  they  return  every  Night  to  refresh 
themselves :  their  Consciousness,  circumscribed 
by  Day,  and  which  without  Sleep  would  at 
length  become  small,  narrow  and  pitiful,  sets 
therein  like  the  Sun,  and  their  Mind  returns 
every  Morning  renovated,  strengthened,  and  en- 
larged, coming  forth  joyfully  like  a  Bridegroom 
out  of  his  Chamber.  Even  the  Flowers  close 
in  the  Evening ;  they  sleep  in  the  Moonlight, 
midst  the  Brilliancy  of  the  Stars  and  the  Songs 
of  the  Nightingales,  as  if  these  sweet  Song- 
stresses were  their  Nurses,  and  in  the  Morning 
their  Heart  is  more  Open,  fuller,  more  fragrant. 
If  an  Artist,  therefore,  be  deprived  of  Sleep, 
if  he  must  break  off  his  Morning  Dreams, 


56  THE    YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

during  which  he  brings  to  the  light  of  day 
and  transfers  to  his  waking  hours  what  he  has 
beheld  in  the  World  of  Spirits,  as  if  it  were 
contraband  within  Earth's  limits,  then  good- 
night to  Fancy !  farewell  to  her  Works,  sprung 
from  the  Mind,  deeply  felt  in  the  Heart,  and 
nourished  with  the  innermost  Marrow  of  Life ! 
For  then  are  they  only  —  Handicraftswork  con- 
ceived in  the  Day,  in  the  Day  executed,  and 
in  the  Evening  forgotten  —  Piecework,  like  to 
Nurnberg  Gingerbread.  And  to  make  even 
that,  the  Dough  must  ferment  and  ripen  for 
three  Years. 

The  Master  was  now  for  the  first  time  de- 
prived of  this  Morning  Sleep.  Now  Agnes  did 
not  well  know  of  what  value  it  was  to  him ; 
but  she  could  not  have  grudged  him  this  en- 
joyment, if  she  had  thought  it  was  as  sweet 
to  him  as  it  was  to  her.  She  considered  it 
only  Laziness  in  him,  but  not  in  herself;  for 
her  it  was  Ease.  However,  young  Wives  like 
to  sleep  long  —  and  Albert  might  think :  Per- 
haps there  ripens  another  Godly  Work  of  our 
Heavenly  Father  in  the  sweet  Slumberer  midst 
her  blissful  Morning  Dreams  !  So  then  he 
arose  early,  and  thus  was  his  first  Blessing 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  57 

gone !  were  it  not  that  he  acquired  another  in 
its  stead,  in  thus  gazing  on  his  beautiful  be- 
loved Wife  —  in  the  innocent  arms  of  Sleep, 
the  rosy  Glow  of  a  holy  World  on  her  Cheek, 
as  a  visible  reflection  of  the  same  in  the  earthly 
Sphere  —  like  a  new  Morning  Dawn  on  an 
ancient  Godlike  Statue. 

At  this  early  period,  the  young  Master  was 
called  to  the  house  of  Wilibald  Pirkheimer. 
Agnes  knew  what  was  to  be  the  object  of  his 
Visit,  so  his  Lace  Collar  was  not  washed,  nor 
yet  plaited,  or  in  putting  it  on  Agnes  spoilt  it 
again  herself.  Susanna  dared  not  venture  to 
trim  his  black  Velvet  Cloak,  or  his  Shoes  with 
their  Roses.  The  Master  was  obliged  to  do 
it  in  secret  for  himself.  For  Wilibald  had 
kindly  threatened  to  come  for  him  himself. 
He  came  and  carried  him  off,  to  draw  a  Pic- 
ture of  his  Sister  Clara.  This  was  what  he 
had  to  do. 

He  found  the  beautiful  Maiden — surrounded 
by  lovely  little  Children  —  paler  than  at  the 
time  when  she  had  placed  the  Bridal  Ring  on 
the  Finger  of  his  Agnes  in  the  Garden,  her 
Eye  more  veiled,  her  Demeanour  still  softer 
and  more  modest,  so  that  he  felt  quite  strange 


58  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

in  the  flower-adorned,  sunny  apartment,  quite 
peculiarly  embarrassed  to  find  himself  alone 
with  her.  She  sat  down  ;  he  drew  the  out- 
line of  her  lovely  Countenance ;  she  did  not 
raise  her  Eyes  —  he  was  obliged  to  ask  her 
to  do  so.  She  then  looked  at  him,  her  whole 
Soul  in  the  Glance ;  then  her  Lips  quivered, 
she  became  still  paler  than  before,  she  breathed 
softly,  her  Head  sunk  involuntarily,  till  her 
Chin  rested  on  her  Bosom  and  formed  a  del- 
icate double  Chin. 

Albert  scarcely  ventured  to  look  at  her;  he 
could  not  help  sighing.  The  Children  had 
clung  around  her,  and  stood  in  like  manner 
embarrassed ;  they  remained  motionless,  and 
also  gently  sighed,  one  after  the  other,  as  if 
they  had  therewith  secretly  infected  each  other. 

There  is  a  Drop  on  thine  Arm,  said  the  little 
Girl ;  pray  look,  Clara,  how  comes  that  to  be 
there  ? 

Clara  arose.  Do  not  disturb  the  current  of 
the  Master's  Thoughts,  said  she  softly,  smiling, 
—  nor  mine  either,  dear  Children !  The  Drop 
fell  from  thine  Eyelids  ;  thou  hast  certainly 
been  weeping  just  now. 

I?    asked  the   Girl. 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  59 

No,  thou!    said  she  to  the  Boy. 

I?   asked  the  Boy. 

Well  then,  she  said,  it  must  have  fallen 
from  my  own  Eyes ;  I  have  been  embroider- 
ing so  busily  at  my  Veil  for  some  days. 

Clara  now  showed  him  the  Veil,  at  the 
same  time  holding  in  her  breath.  I  am  going 
to  put  it  on  thus  early,  and  yet  for  all  that 
too  late  !  said  she,  in  a  scarcely  audible  tone 
of  voice,  and  from  a  Soul  which  seemed  to 
have  lost  itself,  or  to  be  dwelling  in  Thought 
in  far  distant  Regions  and  in  twice-blessed 
Times. 

Ah !  thou  art  going  to  be  a  Nun,  sighed  the 
Boy. 

No,  she  is  going  to  be  an  Angel,  said  the 
Girl,  correcting  him.  Oh  dear  Clara,  I  will  be 
an  Angel  too. 

Then  I  will  be  a  Monk,  concluded  the  lov- 
ing Boy. 

Clara's  glance  scarcely  wandered  so  far  as  to 
meet  my  Eyes ;  and  when  Albert  understood 
aright  her  Words,  her  Looks,  her  hasty  under- 
taking, there  lay  in  this  fleeting  Moment  the 
Satisfaction  and  the  Consolation  of  her  whole 
self-sacrificing  Life. 


60  THE   YEAR   OF    STRIFE. 

On  a  plate  of  Chinese  Porcelain  was  some 
Gingerbread;  —  I  know  not  whether  she  had 
heard  from  her  Brother  that  Albert  had  been 
fond  of  it  from  his  childhood ;  —  Clara  offered 
some  to  the  Children  —  and,  as  if  in  jest,  she 
held  out  the  Plate  to  him,  looking  meanwhile 
on  the  Ground,  and  whispered  only:  Perhaps 
you  would  like  also  to  taste  some  of  it  ?  an 
Artist,  you  know,  continues  willingly  to  be  a 
Child,  even  though  he  were 

She  paused.  At  the  same  moment  his  Wife 
sent  for  him  in  haste ;  Albert  must  of  necessity 
return  Home  —  the  matter  could  suffer  no  de- 
lay. 

Clara  smiled,  thinking  Agnes  might  have  a 
Presentiment — that  she  might  feel  the  gentle 
Echo  of  the  Words  in  her  own  Bosom. 

Go  to  her,  then,  Master  Albert,  said  she,  tak- 
ing leave  of  him  ;  and  if  you  will  not  think 
amiss  of  me  for  it,  take  the  Drawing  also  with 
you !  My  Picture  was  meant  for  my  Brother 
Wilibald ;  but  if  he  wishes  to  keep  me  in  re- 
membrance, he  has  no  need  of  my  Shadow. 
And  if  he  misses  me,  he  will  see  myself  stand- 
ing before  his  Eyes,  wherever  I  may  be.  And 
besides,  why  should  I  be  hung  up  in  this  room, 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  61 

and   deceive   Strangers  who  never   knew   me  ? 
I  must  say  Farewell   to   you   also !   farewell ! 

Now  make  haste,  else  a  second  Messenger 

will  come  —  then  she  will  come  herself.      Ah ! 
She!* 

Albert  went  away  from  her  like  one  in  a 
Dream  ;  but  his  pure  Heart  did  not  even  listen 
to  her  guileless  heart-rending  Words. 

At  Home,  however,  there  was  no  one  who 
wanted  him.  Agnes  raised  her  Head  from  her 
work,  and  smiled,  looked  at  him  with  confused 
glances,  and  only  said  in  her  own  excuse,  I  was 
so  anxious !  now  there  is  a  Stone  taken  from 
my  Heart. 

When  Pirkheimer's  Sister  went  to  the  Con- 
vent of  Santa  Clara,  she  left  behind  her  Pres- 
ents to  all  the  Friends  of  her  Youth,  and 
to  Alberts  Agnes  a  valuable  Lace  Collar  of 
her  own  Handiwork. 

Agnes  locked  it  up,  without  even  trying  it 
on.  Perhaps  she  did  so  secretly. 

The  importance  of  the  Honeymoon,  which 
had  been  so  much  vaunted  to  him  by  his  Fa- 

*  My  poor,  poor  Sister!  this  alone  then  was  the  cause  of  thy 
retirement  from  Life.  Indeed  I  guessed  as  much.  Why  did 
Hanns  Frei  bargain  so  hastily  with  old  Albert! —  W.  P* 


62  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

ther,  had  not  held  good;  because  he  felt  that 
he  himself  in  this  Fascination  had  scarcely 
seen  his  Wife  as  she  actually  was ;  in  like 
manner,  she  also  had  not  seen  him  as  he  was, 
much  less  had  she  understood  him;  but  least 
of  all  would  she  be  able  soon  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  the  peculiarities  which  he,  as  every 
Man  does,  brought  with  him  into  the  married 
State  :  of  that  he  was  sensible.  Everything 
must  therefore  once  more  be  contemplated  af- 
ter the  ordinary  manner  of  the  World,  once 
more  with  subdued  Feelings  spoken  of,  con- 
sidered, and  settled,  as  the  opportunity  might 
offer.  It  was  best,  however,  that  everything 
should  come  right  of  itself,  and  as  it  might 
chance;  in  all  things  indifferent  the  Husband 
must  be  willing  to  yield,  however  new  it  might 
be  to  him,  however  different  from  what  he  him- 
self thought ;  he  had  also  to  learn  that  he  must 
sacrifice  the  Half  of  his  Existence,  must  give  it 
up  to  the  Wife,  in  order  thereby  to  gain  the  Half 
of  another  beloved  Existence,  and  must  scarce- 
ly venture  to  warn,  must  only  tell,  even  when 
anything  Evil  was  to  be  shunned,  or  anything 
Good  to  be  done.  A  Husband  must  not  be  a 
Teacher  or  a  domestic  Chaplain.  One  word 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  63 

may  be  sufficiently  intelligible,  and  when  there 
is  good  intention  on  the  Wife's  part,  she  has 
long  years  in  which  to  discipline  herself  in  si- 
lence thereon — often  also  to  suffer.  Albert  was 
therefore  meekly  silent,  and  studied  the  holy 
condition  of  Marriage  with  a  devout  mind,  be- 
cause the  Lord  had  placed  him  in  Paradise. 

Under  favour  of  his  Silence,  everything  in 
the  House  was  soon  directed  and  regulated  ac- 
cording to  Agnes' s  will ;  and  what  in  itself  ap- 
peared indifferent,  through  the  number  and  the 
association  of  things,  was  soon  no  longer  so. 
Yet  he  let  everything  alone  which  was  not 
really  bad.  For  he  knew  well  that  he  exer- 
cised a  mental  Ascendancy  which  constrained 
his  Wife  in  her  Will,  and  against  which  she 
thought  she  could  maintain  an  artificial  Equi- 
librium by  Opposition  alone.  She  knew  not  the 
power  of  Submission,  not  even  that  of  Sub- 
mission to  the  best  of  Husbands.  And  when 
she  saw  daily  the  two-headed  Eagle  over  the 
park-gate,  on  the  Arms  of  the  Imperial  City, 
then  she  thought  that  ip  Marriage  there  should 
also  be  two  Heads,  without  considering  that 
no  living  creature  can  so  exist,  and  that  even 
when  painted  or  hewn  in  stone  it  is  a  Monster, 


64  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

or  represents  one.  It  should  be  said,  however, 
in  excuse  for  her,  that  she  was  the  Child  of  an 
old  Father,  and  had  not  learned  Obedience, 
even  when  he  asked  her  to  be  happy,  not  to 
mention  anything  else.  She  had  only  laughed 
when  her  Father  once  asked  her  quite  gravely 
to  laugh,  so  that  he  might  see  his  Daughter 
lively  for  once  —  were  it  only  in  appearance. 

Thus  demure  was  her  Mind,  and  only  direct- 
ed towards  a  few  objects  in  Life,  but  to  them 
so  much  the  more  firmly  and  constantly.  And 
these  things  were  not  censurable,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  desirable  and  necessary  for  every  one. 
Her  sense  of  Honour  was  great,  strong,  and 
pure ;  but  she  wished  to  carry  it  about  with 
her  through  Life,  not  only  firmly  maintained 
but  undisputed. 

But 

Alberts  Father  had,  it  is  true,  bought  him 
a  House,  but  he  had  not  paid  for  it.  And 
therefore  the  Walls  oppressed  and  confined  poor 
Agnes,  so  that  it  was  impossible  to  move  her 
to  look  out  at  the  Window  with  him —  out  of 
a  borrowed  House. 

As  often  also  as  she  went  to  Church  like 
a  good  Catholic,  she  avoided  the  Streets  in 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  65 

which  any  one  dwelt  who  was  in  Alberts  Debt, 
that  she  might  not  appear  needy  or  dunning. 
Albert^  with  his  usual  candour,  had  also  im- 
parted to  her  Letters  he  had  received  from 
Venice  dunning  him.  They  were  for  Debts 
contracted  in  Travelling,  and  for  Instruction  ; 
—  and  he  who  would  allow  his  Neighbour,  with 
whose  circumstances  he  is  intimately  acquaint- 
ed, to  starve,  will  lend  to  the  Stranger ;  for 
when  any  one  travels  into  far  Countries,  he 
provides  beforehand  the  means  thereto,  and  is 
thought  to  be  only  in  momentary  embarrass- 
ment, which  may  befal  even  the  richest.  Al- 
bert, however,  endured  much  Distress  in  For- 
eign Lands,  and  willingly  suffered  Want  from 
his  unconquerable  Love  for  the  Arts,  which 
carried  him  cheerfully  through  a  condition  that 
might  perhaps  have  killed  another,  without 
such  an  opposing  power.  When  such  a  Let- 
ter came,  Agnes  was  silent  for  Days.  He, 
however,  had  the  fruits  of  his  Journey  in  his 
Heart  and  in  his  Mind  —  no  one  could  rob  him 
of  these;  and  that  he  was  in  Debt  for  them, 
and  yet  possessed  them,  appeared  to  him  quite 
wonderful;  arid  he  was  satisfied  when  he  felt 
his  Power,  and  saw  the  means  how,  and  how 
5 


63  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

soon,  and  with  what  thanks,  he  would  be  able 
to  pay!  But  if  he  reckoned  up  all  his  pros- 
pects to  Agnes,  she  only  cast  down  her  Eyes, 
or  looked  at  him  with  doubting  Looks,  which 
made  his  whole  Heart  tumultuous  within  him. 
He  was  as  certain  of  the  thing  as  he  was  of 
•his  Life,  and  yet  his  own  Wife  discouraged 
him  by  her  Doubts !  His  Mind  revolted ;  all 
his  future  Works  rose  up  within  his  Bosom 
like  fiery  Spirits ;  he  felt  himself  raised  by 
them  above  the  Evils  of  this  Life ;  he  glowed, 
his  Lips  quivered,  Tears  flowed  down  his 
Cheeks  —  and  Agnes  stole  away  from  him 
speechless  but  not  convinced  —  and,  as  he  also 
plainly  saw,  not  to  be  convinced  ;  she  was  quite 
horror-struck,  for  she  had  never  before  so  seen 
her  gentle  Husband,  so  fuh1  of  noble  Power ! 
so  full  of  inward  holy  Wrath ! 
*  And  yet  he  was  soon  again  pacified,  softened, 
yea,  dejected ;  for  he  was  not  always  well  able 
at  that  time  to  procure  for  his  Agnes  the  im- 
mediate Necessaries  of  Life,  in  the  manner  she, 
as  Mistress  of  a  House,  wished !  As  for  her,  she 
saw  the  fulfilment  of  her  mostreasonableHopes 
only  so  much  the  longer  delayed  —  and  he,  by 
the  same  means,  her  Satisfaction  with  herself 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  67 

and  with  him ;  and  thus  his  own  Peace  hov- 
ered over  him  like  a  scared-away  Lark,  no 
longer  visible  among  the  Clouds  —  till  single 
Notes  of  her  Song  again  penetrated  down  to 
him,  as  if  the  Sun  were  singing  and  speaking 
to  him. 

Labour  was  Life  and  Delight  to  the  Master ; 
for  any  one  can  make  mention  of  his  own  In- 
dustry as  he  would  of  a  Duty,  and  of  the  want 
of  it  as  a  Sin  of  Omission.  But  the  Artist  is 
no  Machine,  no  Millwheel  that  turns  round 
and  round  Day  and  Night ;  his  Work  is  Men- 
tal, and  his  Works  are  Mind,  produced  by  Mind. 
Thoughts  and  Images  slumber  within  him  like 
Bees  in  a  Hive ;  they  fly  out  and  feed  and  grow 
upon  the  Sweets  of  the  eternal  Spring  with- 
out :  themselves  satisfied  and  strengthened,  they 
bring  home  Nourishment  with  them,  and  feed 
the  young  Bees  who  as  yet  only  flap  their 
Wings,  and  buzz  around ;  they  cover  the  Brood, 
till  they  impregnate  their  Queen  —  Fancy;  — 
and  every  new  Work  is  a  Swarm,  which  joy- 
fully separating  from  the  Mother-stock,  departs 
to  the  place  it  has  traced  out  for  a  Settlement. 
The  Swarm  changes  its  Voice  by  that  of  the 
Queen  who  keeps  them  together ;  and  when 


68  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE 

its  Bees  and  the  Bees  of  the  Mother-stock  meet 
on  the  Flowers,  they  no  longer  recognise  each 
other.  Or  as  in  Spring,  when  it  becomes  hot, 
and  the  Heavens  are  inflamed,  and  the  Thun- 
der Storm  in  the  Spring  Night,  with  its  red 
Flashes  and  great  Rain-drops,  causes  a  thou- 
sand Buds  to  spring,  brings  forth  Blossoms, 
opens  up  Crocuses,  Violets,  and  Hyacinths  — 
and  they,  when  the  Heavenly  Blessings  hang 
over  them,  stand  there  in  the  Morning,  as  if 
by  their  own  power  they  had  grown  out  of 
the  Earth,  because  they  are  so  beautiful,  and 
every  one  gives  them  credit  for  possessing  the 
wonderful  Power  of  Self-production  —  in  like 
manner,  an  inward  mental  Sun  opens  up  as 
suddenly  the  Flowers  in  the  Head  of  the  Ar- 
ist!  But  they  must  all  wait  patiently  till 
their  time  comes,  and  he  must  wait  patient- 
ly and  wear  them  for  a  long  time  as  Gerrn 
and  Bud :  and  the  Restlessness,  the  laying  on 
of  the  Hand,  the  rubbing  of  the  Brow,  and 
the  painful  Self-torture,  are  of  no  avail!  all 
in  vain !  If  he  tries  this,  nevertheless,  then  he 
is  only  a  Child  who  tears  up  a  still-closed 
Snowdrop  along  with  its  Stalk,  and  forces  it 
open  with  his  Mouth ;  or  peels  a  Butterfly  out 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  69 

of  the  Chrysalis,  and  only  beholds  the  Wonder 
of  incipient  Life  —  and  then  destroys! 

Master  Albert  now  often  dreamed  and  de- 
layed whole  Days ;  sat  down,  rose  up,  spoke 
to  himself,  drew  with  his  Stick  on  the  Sand, 
or  began  to  make  an  Eye  or  a  Nose  with 
black  Chalk;  and  then  Agnes  called  him  a 
Child,  or  thought  that,  dissatisfied  with  her, 
he  held  Converse  with  his  own  Soul.  Or  he 
walked  up  and  down  in  the  Garden,  stood  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  at  a  time  before  the  trunk 
of  a  Tree,  and  studied  its  wonderfully-bursting 
Bark ;  looked  up  to  the  Heavens,  and  imprint- 
ed on  his  memory  the  forms  of  the  Clouds ; 
or  he  sat  before  the  door,  and  called  thither 
handsome  Children,  placed  one  quite  in  the 
Shade  of  the  Roof,  another  only  half,  and 
made  a  third  stand  in  the  full  Sunshine,  that 
he  might  adjust  for  himself  the  colours  of  the 
dresses  in  Light  and  Shade  ;  or  he  accosted 
old  Men  and  Women,  who  came  to  him  just 
as  if  they  had  been  sent  by  God.  Then  Ag- 
nes called  to  him,  and  said  peevishly  :  My 
God !  Why  not  rather  work !  thou  knowest 
well,  we  need  it. 

I  do  work,  said  Albert.     My  Picture  is  ready. 


70  THE  YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

God  grant  it !  sighed  she ;  as  if  he  were  lazy, 
or  incapable. 

Just  consider,  my  Agnes,  said  he  then,  smil- 
ing :  does  the  Carver  carve  the  Forms ;  does 
the  Pencil  paint  ?  these  are  my  Spirits  and 
Slaves,  who  do  my  Will  when  I  call  them. 

But  still  thou  canst  sit  down. 

I  certainly  can  do  so. 

If  thy  Pencil  would  only  move  of  itself ! 
were  there  such  a  Pencil  —  then  we  should 
have  our  wants  supplied. 

I  would  burn,  I  would  banish  such  a  Pencil, 
as  if  it  were  an  Evil  Spirit!  I — I  must  do 
all  myself,  otherwise  I  should  no  longer  be 
myself.  That  were  just  the  same  as  if  a 
strange  Woman  were  to  love  and  foster  me 
instead  of  thee. 

Internal  images  now  appeared  to  his  Mind, 
as  if  induced  by  constant  Devotion,  and  dis- 
closed to  his  sight  how  the  Crocus  appearing 
out  of  the  Earth,  tears  its  little  delicate  white 
Child's  Shirt ;  and  then  the  Master  glowed  like 
a  vessel  full  of  molten  Gold,  liquified  and  pure 
for  the  casting ;  so  that  he  trembled,  knew 
nothing  more  of  the  World,  and  what  was 
revealed  to  him  lie  transferred  to  the  Tablet 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  71 

with  inspired  haste:  —  then  came  Agnes  and 
called  to  him  two  or  three  times,  always  louder 
and  louder,  about  some  Trifle.  He  then  sprang 
up,  neither  knowing  where  he  had  been  nor 
where  he  now  was ;  the  portals  of  the  Spirit- 
ual Kingdom  closed  suddenly,  and  the  only 
half  conjured-up  Images  sank  back  into  Night, 
and  into  Spiritual  Death,  and  perhaps  never 
returned  to  him  —  ah!  never  thus  again.  Then 
he  recognised  Agnes ,  who,  angry  at  his  de- 
meanour, stood  before  him  and  scolded  him 
deaf  and  blind.  Then  his  Blood  was  like  to 
a  Spring  Flood ;  he  seized  the  Charm-dispelling 
Disturber  violently  by  the  arm  —  and  held  her 
thus  till  he  awoke.  Then  he  said,  ashamed, 
Is  it  thou,  my  Wife  ?  I  was  not  here  just 
now — not  with  thee !  Forgive  me!  To  vex 
even  a  Child  is  more  inhuman  than  to  see  and 
paint  all  the  Angels,  and  to  hear  them  and 
one's  self  praised,  is  desirable.  Thou  also  liv- 
est  in  a  beautiful  World  —  and  that  the  Sun 
and  Moon  shine  upon  it,  that  makes  it  none 
the  worse !  Where  thou  art,  where  I  am,  with 
Soul  and  Feeling,  yea  with  Fancy  and  her 
Works,  that  is  to  me  the  true,  the  holy  World ! 
And  now  he  smiled  and  asked  her  mildly : 


72  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

What  dost  thou  want  with  me  then,  my  Child  ? 
But  his  Eyes  flashed. 

She,  however,  believed  that  she  had  looked 
upon  a  Demon  !  a  Conjuror  of  Spirits !  She 
examined  the  red  mark  on  her  arm,  where  he 
had  seized  her ;  Tears  gushed  from  her  Eyes ; 
she  bowed  down  and  lamented :  Ah !  I  know 
it,  I  have  it  always  in  my  mind  —  thou  wilt 
certainly  one  day  murder  me !  Every  time  I 
go  to  bed,  I  pray  that  I  may  not  perish  in  my 
Sins,  when  thou  again  art  as  thou  art  now! 
when  I  am  nothing  to  thee ! 

She  spoke  in  so  soft,  so  desponding  a  tone, 
and  yet  so  resigned  to  her  Fate  with  him,  that 
he  was  moved  to  Tears  by  her  confused  words 
and  frightened  looks. 

Oh  thou,  my  Heavenly  Father  !  sighed  he 
then,  and  stood  with  clasped  hands ;  till  at 
length  he  clasped  his  terrified  Wife,  who  could 
not  comprehend  him,  who  felt  so  patient  and 
so  completely  in  his  power,  that  she  would  not 

even  scream  or  call  for  help,  if  he  should 

Oh!  thou  heavenly  Father! till  at  length 

he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  felt  her  glow- 
ing on  his  Cheek. 

Then  he  secretly  determined  with  himself  to 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  73 

yield  to  her  willingly  in  everything;  to  allow 
her  to  rule  according  to  the  best  of  her  Knowl- 
edge and  Understanding,  and  lovingly  to  en- 
dure all  from  her,  and  to  do  everything  to 
please  her,  till  at  length,  instead  of  him,  a  very 
different,  a  cruel  Man  should  appear,  to  exe- 
cute that  which  she  from  him 

Oh  !  thou  Heavenly  Father  ! 

As  soon  as  he  had  spoken,  Fear  was  at  an 
end  ;  for  what  is  said,  no  longer  disquiets  a 
Woman,  nor  does  it  even  a  Poet. 

Agnes  now  thought  that  the  exhausting  ef- 
forts of  the  Mind  would  confuse  his  Senses  — 
that  she  would  have  her  Suffering  with  him  — 
and  must  starve  in  old  age  —  perhaps  in  youth  ! 
or  his  abstracted  manner  of  Life  might  draw 
him  away,  as  it  had  done  from  Men,  so  also 
from  her,  from  his  Wife !  —  and  thought  how 
little  she  was  to  him,  and  of  how  small  value. 

Nunnenbeck  the  Minstrel  and  Celtes  came  to 
visit  Albert.  Agnes  had  certainly  imparted  her 
fears  to  them.  There  was  also  a  Scholar  of 
Alberts,  a  relative  of  Nunnenbeck,  who  was  a 
loose  fellow.  Therefore  Celtes  said,  in  pres- 
ence of  them  all :  To  discriminate  Ideas  is  to 
discriminate  Life.  I  grant  that  he  who  is  born 


74  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

an  Artist  must  be  a  different,  more  peculiar, 
more  richly  endowed  person  than  others.  He 
is  the  Organ,  the  Medium  through  which  the 
creative  Mind  of  Nature  is  still  glowing,  who 
is  destined  to  continue  the  work  she  has  only 
just  begun,  by  Images  drawn  from  her  secret 
movements,  and  who  moulds  the  outward  uni- 
versal Creation  into  a  Human  Form.  There- 
fore, his  Bosom  is  a  moving  Depth,  full  of 
Germs  and  Images,  the  materials  for  a  more 
beautiful  mental  Spring.  Himself  the  Spirit 
of  Nature,  he  takes  a  thoughtful  interest  in  all 
her  so  beautifully -formed  Works :  the  Death  of 
the  Worm  moves  him  as  deeply  as  the  Death 
of  the  greatest  Man  ;  for  it  is  Death  that  moves 
him.  All  Nature's  Manifestations  are  reflect- 
ed in  the  warm  and  clear  Mirror  of  his  Soul. 
Love,  also,  which  enraptures  every  creature, 
breathes  and  glows  on  him  sacredly ;  and  un- 
der the  influence  of  this  glowing  Fulness,  yea 
in  the  midst  of  it,  he  can  scarcely  contain  his 
Felicity  in  thoughts  which  stream  over  all 
things.  Ah !  and  he  struggles  to  tell  of  the 
Godly,  and  to  lament  the  Sorrowful  —  to  pen- 
etrate all  which  has  been  from  Eternity,  which 
near  and  around  him  rules,  and  over  his  Grave 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  75 

will  still  eternally  rule.  And  this  Power  of 
Contemplation,  this  Impulse  proceeding  from 
the  Power,  makes  him  an  Artist. 

But,  interrupted  Nunnenbeck,  does  he  then 
tear  himself  loose  from  his  Mother  Nature 
when  he  enters  on  the  career  of  an  Artist  ? 
can  he  no  longer  make  use  of  her  Laws?  Is 
he  no  longer  moved  by  the  Actual  around  him  ? 
—  has  he  no  Joy,  no  Sorrow,  no  more  any  indi- 
vidual Life  in  Nature?  —  does  he  cease  to  be 
a  Man,  if  he  would  become  one  of  the  most 
glorious  of  his  Generation  ?  Does  nothing  liv- 
ing any  more  allure,  disappoint,  excite  and  en- 
rapture him  ?  and  is  his  Life  only  the  Dream 
of  his  Soul,  and  its  Capacities  what  he  must 
dream  of? 

Alas  for  him !  said  Celtes^  if  he  could  and 
must  do  this  !  then  were  he  more  miserable 
than  one  of  the  most  neglected  Creatures  of 
his  loving  Mother  !  But  he  has  also  Fancy 
in  which  to  live! 

He  dwells  in  no  remote,  subterranean,  or 
celestial  .kingdom,  proceeded  Nunnenbeck ;  he 
dwells  in  the  Kernel  of  Nature.  He  is  not 
solitary,  but  like  an  Enchanter  alone,  awfully 
alone  with  the  conjured-up  Spirits,  and  thus  in 


76  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

the  most  dignified  and  fullest  Society  of  all 
the  Living  and  the  Dead.  He  continues  to 
be  a  Man,  subject  to  all  the  laws  of  waking 
and  sleeping,  of  hunger  and  thirst,  and  to  all 
the  conditions  of  Existence,  as  strictly  as  a 
Day-labourer.  He  has  not  nor  can  he  subject 
himself  to  these  Spirits,  for  his  own  Spirit  is 
greater  than  all.  He  does  not  build  his  mar- 
vellous Palace  on  the  Wrecks  of  this  spell-like 
Nature,  but  he  adopts  all  her  Laws,  even  the 
smallest  and  most  delicate,  in  his  Ideas  and 
Images ;  —  if  he  would  make  himself  intelligi- 
ble and  valuable  to  Men,  then  he  must  invent 
and  create  according  to  the  most  universal 
Laws,  which  the  smallest  may  understand  and 
recognise  —  and  his  Power  is  not  derived  from 
Nature,  to  be  used  against  Nature,  but  with 
her ;  and  it  is  his  Life  and  his  Glory  to  follow 
her  as  far  and  as  faithfully  as  it  is  possible  for 
him  to  follow  her.  For  the  Human  Race  must 
not  receive  through  his  means  a  contorted,  false, 
illusive  Nature ;  but  every  one  if  possible  must 
see  his  own  Heart's  Kernel,  that  he  may  un- 
derstand the  Miracles  which  were  not  so  clear 
to  his  own  contemplation.  In  this  way  alone, 
he  raises  also  to  the  all-powerful  Mother,  the 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  77 

insipid,  unthinking,  and  passive,  whose  Senses 
are  all  bound  down  by  the  Exigencies  of  Life. 
Through  him  they  see  that  Nature  is  not  so 
common  as  they  are  common  :  through  him, 
in  fine,  they  behold  the  whole  Beauty  of  the 
World,  the  whole  Depth  which  is  in  the  Mind 
of  Man,  and  which  the  Initiated  bring  to  light. 
But  when  the  Artist  descends  to  search  out  the 
Treasures  of  the  Deep,  still  he  is  like  the  Miner, 
who  has  his  House  and  his  Wife  above  in  the 
Sunshine ! 

Agnes  looked  at  the  excellent  old  Man,  and 
blushed.  Therefore  he  was  silent,  and  Celtes, 
the  subtle  Judge  of  Mankind,  turned  the  con- 
versation still  farther  to  Alberts  advantage. 

Yes,  as  he  loves  the  World,  said  he,  so  the 
World  loves  him  in  return;  they  cannot  do 
without  each  other.  And  even  the  severest 
Capuchin  is  in  the  right,  when  he  censures 
the  Artist  who  does  not  in  the  strictest  manner 
fulfil  the  Moral  Laws  of  Nature ;  —  for  that  was 
what  I  meant  by  my  first  words.  The  gift  of 
Fancy,  and  the  gift  of  Reverence  for  the  Godlike, 
are  two  very  different  qualities  in  Man ;  and  it 
is  only  by  their  union  that  a  truly  perfect  Man 
is  known.  What  makes  him  an  Artist  is,  that, 


78  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

to  outward  appearance  quite  a  simple  Man,  he 
yet  can  mount  into  the  region  of  Fancy  as  often 
as  he  will.  But  it  is  only  as  a  pure  Being,  as 
an  Angel,  that  he  can  enter  therein.  Those 
who  are  but  seldom  inspired  —  the  tumultuous, 
only  once  or  twice  excited  —  are  un genuine 
Spirits :  they  sink  as  deep  as  they  soared  high. 
Nature  gives  to  the  genuine  Artist,  with  his 
Birth,  the  true  Elevation,  the  Greatness  of 
Mind  necessary  for  lifelong  unvarying  Endur- 
ance day  and  night;  and  from  her  comes  every 
daily  breath,  every  word  —  so  that  he  feels,  suf- 
fers, and  rejoices  in  everything,  under  every  Lot, 
and  in  all  Circumstances.  And  thus  he  sits, 
apparently  like  one  mute  or  blind,  yea  as  a 
Child  among  Children,  and  dwells  meanwhile 
—  although  with  them,  yet  wherever  he  will, 
in  Heaven  or  in  Hell.  It  is  only  the  constant, 
unremitting  Power  which  gives  the  stamp  to 
the  genuine  Calling;  and  from  that  Power  he 
has  Occupation,  Name,  Work,  and  Happiness. 
And  if  he  wilfully  close  the  Realm  of  Fancy, 
then  he  becomes  subject  to  the  smallest  Law 
of  the  exterior  World,  and  more  so  indeed  of 
his  Love  and  of  his  Conscience,  which  are  the 
tenderest  and  purest  Laws  in  the  World. 


THE    YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  79 

Dost  thou    hear?    said    Nunneribeck    to    his 
young  relative,   and   seized   him  by  the  hand. 
Wherever  thou  beholdest  a  dissolute  Artist,  my 
Son,  even  if  it  were    only  his    Shadow,  then 
think:  he  is  no  Artist,  has  never  been  one  fun- 
damentally, or  will  soon  be  one  no  longer ;  for 
the  Conflict  between  two  Passions  drags  even 
the  strongest  person  to  Death.     Human  Nature 
can  endure  a  Fault,  and  more  so  if  it  contains 
an  elevating  ever-vivifying  Power.    No  one  dies 
by  the  effusions  of  such  a  Power:  it  is  the  reno- 
vating Joy  of  his  Life.     But  he  who  is  a  Giant 
in  Fancy,  may  be  a   Negro  Child  in   Morals; 
and  the  Child  drags  the  Giant  into  the  abyss. 
For  these  are  certainly  opposite  —  but  may  be 
found  united  in  the  same  person.     And  every 
one,  be  he  who  he  may,  is  and  must  remain  a 
Man,  a  Moral  Being,  and  may  least  of  all  give 
himself  up  to  the  Devil,  that  he  may  reveal  God 
by  his  Art. 

In  addition  to  all  th'ese  doubts,  Agnes  had 
also  others  which  were  tender  and  womanly. 
Albert  was  willing  to  give  her  every  proof  of 
his  Love,  till  she  was  convinced.  But  he  did 
not  succeed,  owing  to  a  hundred  new  occur- 
rences. 


80  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

The  faithful,  modest  Susanna  ate  with  them 
at  Table.  First  of  all,  that  was  an  Offence. 
But  Albert  also  spoke  with  her  when  he  was 
alone.  There  was  nothing  more  painful  to  him, 
than,  in  a  House  where  only  two  or  three  live- 
together,  to  force  one's  self  to  be  silent  out  of 
mere  Haughtiness,  and  to  treat  the  Servants, 
whether  male  or  female,  as  Mutes,  who  are 
yet  Human  Beings  like  ourselves;  for  nothing 
makes  us  more  contemptible  in  the  eyes  of 
others,  than  when  they  dare  not  talk  to  us  be- 
cause we  seem  to  despise  them,  and  do  really 
despise  them.  Now  Agnes  suspected,  when  he 
broke  off  a  Conversation  with  Susanna  when- 
ever she  entered,  that  it  had  been  about  her: 
therefore  she  must  be  dismissed  from  the 
House.  He  would  not  agree  to  it.  Then 
came  still  more  evil  times;  and  at  last  he  was 
obliged  to  let  her  go,  because  a  Wretch  seduced 
the  poor  young  Creature.  And  secretly  to  pro- 
tect her  from  Want  - —  that  was  dangerous  : 
therefore  he  must  see  the  poor  Girl  with  her 
Child  go  about  begging  —  and  he  actually  saw 
it  —  but  with  secret  Tears  and  Sighs. 

At  another  time  there  came  a  Worker  in 
Tapestry  from  Arras  and  dwelt  with  him  — 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  81 

and  also  ate  and  drank.  To  be  sure,  that  cost 
Money — it  cannot  be  denied.  But  the  Man, 
who  was  going  to  Rome,  to  collect  large  sums 
of  Money,  and  to  take  new  orders,  had  also  a 
Son  with  him,  a  Painter,  whom  Albert  had 
known  before  in  the  Netherlands.  This  young 
Man  was  not  likely  to  awaken  confidence  in 
the  Minds  of  upright  Women,  for  he  was  very 
flighty  and  loose  in  his  conduct.  Now  Agnes 
judged  of  all  her  Husband's  foreign  acquaint- 
ances from  this  man.  Albert  had  had  no  other 
intercourse  with  him  but  concerning  his  Art: 
as  a  Man,  he  had  allowed  him  to  go  his  own 
way.  And  a  Man  can  only  pass  through  the 
world  pure,  when  he  sucks  in  nourishment  for 
his  own  life,  like  the  Flowers  from  the  univer- 
sal Ether.  Thus  he  may  occupy  himself  with 
Plants  and  Animals  in  as  far  as  they  are  bene- 
ficial to  him,  without  becoming  a  Rose-bush  or 
a  Bear.  The  young  Man's  Sister  was  also 
with  them,  a  blooming  young  creature,  to 
whom  Albert  had  been  kind  in  her  girlish  years, 
and  who  now,  when  grown,  hung  on  him  the 
more  confidingly.  To  dispel  the  doubts  of  Ag- 
nes in  this  matter  also,  he  asked  the  Maiden 
6 


82  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

one  day  at  table,  whether  she  recollected  in 
what  year  he  had  visited  her  Father.  And  the 
mention  of  the  year  drew  forth  from  her  so 
much  about  the  happy  days  of  her  youth,  which 
a  Child  alone  could  remember,  that  Agnes  was 
convinced  in  her  own  mind.  But  she  was 
angry  at  her  experiment  in  Arithmetic,  and  at 
his  Smile. 

In  consequence  of  this  Conversation,  Agnes 
now  asked  Albert  to  tell  her  all  about  his 
Travels.  He  dared  not  hesitate.  And  so  he 
was  obliged  to  conceal  many  things  from  her, 
and  also  where  he  had  received  much  Love 
and  Kindness,  which  made  his  grateful  Heart 
very  sorrowful.  He  also  felt  his  Deficiencies 
in  many  things,  and  saw  now,  for  the  first 
time,  as  he  believed,  what  a  much  wiser  and 
more  profitable  Use  he  might  have  made  of 
his  Travels,  of  the  advantages  of  the  Places, 
and  of  the  dexterity  of  the  Masters!  But  it 
appeared  so  to  him,  only  because  he  was  now 
wiser  and  further  advanced  in  his  Art.  For 
Man  sees  and  understands  only  according  to 
the  measure  of  his  own  Power  and  Art.  Of 
this,  however,  he  was  certain,  that  he  was  now 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  83 

capable  of  observing  and  learning  more  than 
formerly ;  and  he  oftentimes  expressed  the  wish 
once  again  to  behold  these  glorious  Lands ; 
and  the  longing  thereafter,  proceeding  from  the 
Depths  of  his  Soul,  was  almost  painfully  re- 
flected on  his  countenance. 

Agnes  fancied  that  he  might  possess  or  miss 
some  God,  which  he  had  left  or  lost  there. 
She  had  everything  in  Him,  and  he  had  Her. 

At  another  time,  he  advised  a  young  uncul- 
tivated Artist  against  taking  a  Wife,  because 
he  did  not  think  him  sufficiently  strengthened 
and  confirmed  in  his  Vocation ;  and  he  was 
driven  about  by  a  Disquietude,  which  had  not 
yet  allowed  him  steadily  to  seek  the  golden 
Portals  to  the  Treasures  of  the  Soul  of  Life, 
and  of  his  Art;  and  he  still  looked  abroad  for 
what  lay  in  himself  alone,  but  undiscovered 
and  unsatisfied. 

From  this  warning  Agnes  concluded  that 
Albert  was  dissatisfied  with  his  own  Marriage, 
and  she  remained  whole  days  in  the  house  of 
her  Parents.  He  went  for  her  in  the  evenings 
—  to  avoid  the  risk  of  her  not  returning  at  all ! 
When  Husband  and  Wife  weigh  every  word 
before  it  is  uttered,  then  there  is  scarcely  any 


84  THE   TEAR  OF   STRIFE. 

more  free  Intercourse,  and  the  Restraint  must 
be  doubled. 

The  Usages  of  Society  are  certainly  conven- 
ient; they  even  give  Unity,  Simplicity,  and 
a  certain  steady  bearing,  to  a  multifariously- 
assailed  Life,  and  also  a  seeming  Greatness  to 
the  Mind.  Yet,  under  certain  circumstances, 
they  are  also  constraining  and  unwelcome.  A 
proof  of  this  may  here  be  adduced.  Agnes 
would  not  rise  from  table,  nor  allow  herself  to 
be  disturbed  in  eating.  "  When  any  one,  more 
especially  the  Mistress,  has  not  Rest  at  such 
times,  then  is  her  whole  Life  nothing  but  vain 
Toil,  and  without  proper  Refreshment.  It  is 
then  one  comes  at  least  once  a-day  to  recol- 
lection, and  every  thing  at  table  appears  to  us 
pleasant  and  agreeable  to  the  Eye,  as  the  Food 
or  the  Wine  to  the  Palate." 

Not  untrue,  and  well  argued. 

When  she  was  in  a  good  humour,  when  the 
Roast  was  at  the  Fire,  and  the  Table  was 
ready  covered  with  nice  Linen,  then  she  was 
so  pleased  with  everything  in  the  House  —  that 
she  was  off  like  meadow  water,  and  stood  gos- 
siping with  some  female  neighbour.  These  were 
her  favourite  moments.  The  Master,  know- 


THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE.  85 

ing  this,  waited  patiently  for  her,  and  lived 
meanwhile  in  Flemish  Kitchen  Scenes.  On 
the  contrary,  if  he  remained  out  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  beyond  Dinner-time,  she  had  dined 
quickly;  the  table  was  cleared,  and  he  might 
look  to  it,  and  take  what  he  could  get.  He 
considered  such  a  day  as  a  voluntary  Fast- 
day,  and  was  satiated  with  Contentment.  But 
if  he  reminded  her  of  the  words  from  the  Cere*- 
monial  Address,  "  Be  ye  Hospitable,"  then  she 
said  jeeringi y,  So !  thou  art  an  Angel !  Where 
are  then  thy  Wings?  and  what  is  thy  Heav- 
enly Name? 

And  he  answered,  whilst  she  felt  his  Shoul- 
ders, I  am  only  called  Albert,  and  am  thy 
dear  Husband! 

My  dear?  how  dost  thou  know  that,  then, 
my  Angel!  said  she.  Then  he  went  mildly 
away  from  her  —  but  she  sprang  hastily  after 
him,  and  he  remained  mute  in  her  mute  em- 
brace. 

All  these  things  put  together  were  powerful 
from  their  union,  and,  like  a  Bundle  of  Reeds, 
could  scarcely  be  bent,  far  less  broken.  And 
thus  ended  the  Year  of  Strife,  without  any 
real  Treaty  of  Peace,  which  in  general  is  never 


86  THE   YEAR   OF   STRIFE. 

solemnly  concluded  nor  formally  celebrated. 
So  it  was  to  be  throughout  all  the  succeeding 
Years!  As  old  secret  Reservations  are  the 
cause  of  new  Declarations  of  War — so  is  it 
between  two  Monarchs  in  Marriage. 


A  Little   Agnes. 


JEAUTY  does  not  supersede  all  other 
claims  on  a  Woman ;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  should  draw  them  forth,  as 
the  Sun  does  the  Flowers,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  all  so  much  the  more  sweetly  and 
charmingly  fulfilled.  For  it  is  wonderful  how 
much  Beauty  excites  the  Imagination;  how 
much  it  covers,  and  outshines,  and  consecrates, 
so  that  a  beautiful  Countenance  alone  makes  a 
mortal  Woman  already  an  Angel,  and  even  a 
Hair  from  her  Eyelid  appears  and  is  no  long- 
er a  Hair  —  it  is  a  Miracle,  like  the  beautiful 
Woman  herself.  And  Agnes  was  beautiful —  so 
beautiful!  But  Albert  looked  upon  her  almost 
with  sadness,  almost  with  pity,  because  she  — 
ah!  because  she  was  so  beautiful.  Beauty  is 
only  one  gift  of  Nature !  only  a  gift  to  Woman! 
The  Woman  herself  is  the  Being  who  receives 
it.  But  as  is  the  Woman,  so  does  she  receive, 
and  so  does  she  use  the  Godly  Gift.  Yea  as 


88  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

\ 

she  is,  so  becomes,  and  so  appears  also  at  last, 
her  Beauty. 

Yet 

A  little  Agnes,  who  now  appeared,  gave  to 
Alberts  Wife  the  Radiance,  yea  the  Glory  of 
the  Mother.  Thus  the  Deity  continued  to  bless 
her!  Agnes  was  the  sacred  Instrument  in  His 
Hands,  and  the  most  mysterious,  the  most  di- 
vine Powers  of  old  Nature  were  thus  granted 
to  her  as  it  were  in  Fief.  Albert  being  now 
filled  with  Reverence,  Rapture,  Satisfaction  and 
Thankfulness,  all  was  well,  better  than  ever, 
and  his  Love  was  now  nobly  founded,  and  hers 
justified,  if  not  more. 

For  Agnes  also  felt  in  her  Heart  as  if  newly 
born,  and  secretly  bound  by  her  Husband's  un- 
wearied care.  He  watched  over  Mother  and 
Child.  No  breath  of  air  should  blow  upon 
them ;  and  when  both  the  dear  Ones  slumbered, 
then  he  hastened  away  to  draw  and  to  paint ; 
and,  to  his  own  amazement,  he  quickly  and 
beautifully  completed  a  Picture  of  the  Nativity, 
and  one  of  the  Adoration,  with  the  three  Holy 
Kings.*  The  Picture  seemed  as  if  speaking. 

*  The  wise  men  of  the  East  who  came  to  Bethlehem  were  vul- 
garly called  Kinys,  but  were  very  probably  of  a  subordinate  rank. 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  89 

And  then  he  blessed  the  Path  he  had  chosen ! 
His  own  Life  opened  up  to  him  an  unknown 
portion  both  of  the  World,  and  of  his  Art,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  now  the  Man  to  produce 
quite  different  and  truer  Works.  Nature  in  her 
Divinity  had  never  yet  presented  herself  before 
him  so  closely  and  so  sacredly!  And  he  felt 
fresher  than  in  the  blooming  Month  of  May 
after  a  mild  fertilizing  Tempest.  The  Ideas 
which  have  once  been  cleared  up  to  the  Artist 
remain  eternally  clear  in  his  Mind.  He  directs 
himself  to  these  bright  points  of  his  inner  Life 
when  he  wishes  to  model  —  then  he  can  dream 
and  create !  From  this  source  all  is  Real !  He 
has  felt  what  he  wishes  to  represent ;  —  he  may 
change  and  transpose  ;  then  unfold,  and  convey 
his  Ideas  to  other  Men ;  and  his  Work  will  al- 
ways spring  from  the  Heart  and  go  to  the  Heart 
again.  Therefore  he  must  have  experienced  the 

Tertullian  calls  them  Princes,  and  others  concur  in  supposing 
them  to  have  been  Governors  or  petty  Princes,  such  having  been 
anciently  denominated  Kings.  Bede,  Benedict  XIV.,  and  others, 
declared  their  number  to  have  been  three.  An  ancient  Commen- 
tary on  St.  Matthew,  preserved  among  the  writings  of  St.  Chrysos- 
tom,  says  that  they  were  baptized  in  Persia  by  the  Apostle  St. 
Thomas,  and  thereafter  became  preachers  of  the  Gospel.  —  Trans- 
lator. 


90  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

greatest,  the  simplest,  the  most  beautiful,  and 
the  saddest  events  of  Nature  and  of  human 
Life  in  general,  —  he  must  have  felt  the  high- 
est Joy  and  the  deepest  Sorrow  —  and  whoever 
has  trod  the  noble  path  of  Human  Life  with  an 
observing  mind  —  and  that  is  peculiar  to  the 
Artist  —  to  him  are  none  of  these  awanting. 
But  it  is  enough  for  him,  that  his  Fancy  em- 
braces Nature  in  its  Simplicity !  He  need  not 
have  been  the  Murderer  of  innumerable  Chil- 
dren, in  order  to  represent  the  Massacre  of  the 
Innocents  —  if  he  only  has  and  loves  one  living 
Child,  and  thinks  —  it  may  die  !  He  need  not 
have  drained  the  Cup  of  Vice  to  the  dregs,  that 
he  may  paint  Lucretia  —  if  he  only  has  a  Wife, 
or  has  ever  possessed  one,  whom  he  loves,  and 
thinks  —  the  proud  King's  Son  may  appear  be- 
fore her  with  the  Poniard  or  with  Dishonour. 
He  need  not  have  gone  to  beg  his  Bread  that 
he  may  draw  the  Prodigal  —  if  he  has  only  been 
a  good  Son,  who  loves  his  Father;  —  the  Tat- 
ters are  found  then.  Thus  the  Artist  hits  every- 
thing, whatever  it  may  be,  faithfully  and  truly, 
if  he  has  always  been  a  genuine  Man,  attentive 
to  the  plainest,  simplest  conditions  of  Nature. 
Only  in  this  sense,  then,  these  words  are  no 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  91 

Blasphemy :  The  Artist  must  have  experienced 
what  he  wishes  to  create.  Thus  indeed  he  has 
experienced  everything;  and  though  simple  and 
natural  himself,  he  can  yet  easily  represent  the 
Unnatural.  The  Artist's  first  Power,  then,  is  his 
own  pure  Heart ;  the  second,  his  Fancy ;  the 
third,  the  faculty  of  conceiving  everything  that 
comes  from  his  Heart,  as  from  a  true  inexhaus- 
tible Source,  to  be  afterwards  woven  by  Fancy. 

Albert  brought  the  Pictures  to  Agnes.  The 
sight  of  them  rejoiced  her;  but  she  looked  at 
the  Child  and  said :  These  are  still  nothing  but 
Pictures  after  all!  Who  has  bespoken  them? 
and  what  wilt  thou  receive  for  them? 

They  are  already  paid  —  through  you  and  my 
own  joy!  said  he,  somewhat  mortified.  It  is 
true,  they  were  only  Pictures  —  and  because  he 
himself  now  possessed  more  than  Pictures,  he 
saw  also,  that  the  Mother  possessed  more,  and 
that  she  had  spoken  quite  naturally  and  jtfstly. 
So  he  willingly  learned  this  also,  —  that  a  living 
Work  of  God  is  of  more  value  than  all  the 
Works  of  Men,  and  that  these  only  exist  and 
can  exist  —  because  those  are.  For  it  is  folly 
to  think  that  Man  has  produced  anything  of 
himself!  The  Great  Master  in  Heaven  gives 


92  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

the  Conception  for  the  fair  work,  the  Power  of 
accomplishing  it,  Joy  to  Men  in  beholding  it,  as 
well  as  the  living  work  from  his  own  Hand  — 
the  highest  and  godliest  of  all. 

Therefore  Albert  prized  the  little  creature  as  a 
rich  Blessing  from  his  Heavenly  Father.  Be  ye 
hospitable,  said  he  to  himself,  for  thereby  some 
have  entertained  Angels.  And  by  these  words 
he  was  transported  back  in  thought  to  the  day 
when  he  stood  in  the  Church,  and  the  Maiden 
Agnes  stood  beside  him,  and  now  in  fancy  he 
put  the  little  Agnes  into  her  arms,  and  the  Bride 
stood  —  as  a  Mother!  All  that  had  afterwards 
taken  place  seemed  to  him  then  as  a  thing  of 
the  Past;  and  the  Softness  with  which  his  heart 
overflowed  was  reflected  backwards,  and  warmed 
the  long  days,  in  which  in  strange  lands  he  had 
languished  in  vain  for  such  Happiness  —  also 
those  in  which  he  had  been  so  cool  to  the 
Mother  of  his  little  Daughter.  From  this  time 
forth  he  determined  always  to  look  upon  her  as 
the  Mother,  even  if  the  Child 

He  did  not  finish  the  Thought,  but  silently 
supplicated  Heaven  to  spare  its  Life. 

The  Mother,  however,  was  dissatisfied  with 
what  she  called  his  excessive  Solicitude,  and 


A   LITTLE  AGNES.  93 

repulsed  him.  And  thus  there  remained  to  him 
only  the  choice,  either  of  offending  her,  or  of 
bringing  perhaps  Distress  upon  himself  by  her 
want  of  Consideration  and  youthful  Rashness. 
And  he  chose  the  perhaps  !  —  and  prayed  that 
it  might  not,  nay,  that  it  might  surely  not  come 
to  pass.  For  he  could  not  and  did  not  wish 
to  think  of  any  one  of  the  three  without  the 
others. 

A  Nurse  was  needed,  and  the  faithful  ser- 
vices of  the  poor  Susanna  were  remembered, 
who,  in  Spite  of  her  Expulsion,  yet  carried  no 
Tales  out  of  the  House,  and  she  was  accord- 
ingly brought  back  again. 

Susanna,  however,  had  a  Mark  upon  her  arm, 
a  little  Blood-red  Cross,  which  some  time  before 
had  fallen  as  if  from  Heaven  all  of  a  sudden  on 
many  people,  and  which  Albert,  on  account  of 
its  singularity,  had  even  copied.  Susanna  had 
formerly  often  stretched  out  her  bare  arm  at 
table  after  dinner,  and  Agnes  had  seen,  admired, 
and  touched  the  Mark,  and  traced  it  on  her 
Cheek  with  her  finger;  and  now  it  turned  out 
that  the  little  Agnes  had  a  small  Purple  Cross 
on  her  right  Cheek. 

On  this  account  Agnes  did  not  care  so  much 


94  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

for  her  Daughter,  and  would  willingly  have  sent 
back  the  dear  Child  to  its  Heavenly  Father  — 
and  begged  Him  for  another,  but  if  possible  to 
select  one  for  herself  out  of  the  innumerable 
Host  in  the  Storehouse  of  Mortals. 

The  Child  was  as  like  her  Father  as  if  he 
had  become  little  again,  and  a  Girl;  and  he  re- 
marked to  Agnes  in  thoughtless  sport,  how  much 
trouble  she  had  with  him,  how  much  she  loved 
and  kissed  and  caressed  him,  and  took  pleasure 
in  toying  with  him. 

Therefore  the  Child  got  no  more  Kisses  from 
her  in  his  presence,  and  at  last  Susanna  had  it 
always  in  her  lap. 

The  little  Girl  however  was  sickly,  and  gave 
small  promise  of  Life  or  of  being  reared,  and 
therefore  the  Love  of  the  Mother  shrunk  back, 
perhaps  from  insupportable  Sadness ;  for  she 
had  once  with  difficulty  suppressed  her  Tears, 
when  she  looked  at  her  pale  little  One ;  and  as 
if  she  were  already  lost,  she  tried  to  compose 
and  comfort  herself  that  she  might  first  appear 
indifferent,  and  then  in  the  end  become  really 
so.  And  the  ever  sickly,  ever  sad-tempered 
Child,  who  was  but  seldom  satisfied  with  any- 
thing, deserved  in  this  way  the  dissatisfaction 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  95 

of  the  Mother.     Albert  thus  accounted  for  the 
change  in  her  Feelings. 

The  Child  was  two  years  old.  She  was  to 
have  had  a  little  golden  Hood  and  a  pretty 
white  Frock  for  her  Birth-day  —  but  the  day 
came,  and  Agnes  had  not  got  them  finished. 
He  took  her,  unadorned  as  she  was,  to  his 
Bosom.  Thus  the  little  Girl  went  quite  over  to 
the  Father.  She  stood  near  him  when  he 
painted  or  carved ;  he  played  with  her,  and 
neglected  Art  as  often  as  willingly,  that  he 
might  learn  something  from  Life  instead.  She 
held  him  fast  in  her  little  arms  till  she  fell 
asleep ;  and  even  then  he  remained  yet  a  while 
by  her,  that  he  might  enjoy  the  few,  the  blessed 
hours,  in  which  the  Father  still  possessed  a 
Child !  How  thoughtful,  and  yet  how  thought- 
less, he  looked  on,  when  she  washed  out  his 
pencil  in  pure  water,  or  brought  colours  to  him ! 
How  tenderly  he  listened,  and  yet  liked  not  to 
listen,  when  the  Child  said  for  her  Evening 
Prayer  the  little  Verse : 

Ah!    dear  God,  I  pray  thee, 
A  pious  Child  make  me! 
Bather  than  I  should  stray, 
Take  me  from  Earth  away; 


96  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

Take  me  to  Thy  Heaven  of  Light, 
Make  me  like  the  Angels  bright! 

Or  when  she  began  the  Lord's  Prayer:  Our 
Father  which  art  in  Heaven ! 

The  Child  now  attached  herself  to  him 
alone.  And  whom  has  a  Child  but  Father 
and  Mother?  They  are  all  to  it;  they  can 
destroy  or  preserve  it.  Without  them  it  is 
deprived  of  Counsel,  helpless ;  and  even  the 
morsel  of  Bread  or  the  Apple,  which  God  has 
given  to  the  Parents,  it  receives  from  their 
hands.  How  high  and  powerful  does  a  Father 
appear  to  a  Child !  Only  because  it  knows 
and  loves  him,  it  learns  to  love  and  know  the 
Heavenly  Father.  The  Child  becomes  all  that 
he  wishes  —  and  what  must  he  be,  whom  that 
does  not  move  ?  who  would  not  bend,  even  to 
the  Lips  of  the  little  sighing  Image  ? 

Under  the  influence  of  such  feelings,  Albert 
certainly  spoiled  the  little  Agnes,  who  stood 
so  much  in  need  of  his  care.  But  he  had  the 
Heart,  and  the  confiding  tender  Nature  of  an 
Artist ;  and  he  resolved  that  these  should 
overflow  towards  his  little  Daughter,  for  the 
short  time  she  had  to  live.  As  he  highly  re- 
spected every  Human  Being,  and  from  true 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  97 

Reverence  took  off  his  Bonnet  to  all,  and  held 
it  in  his  hand,  so  was  a  Child  also  to  him  an 
Angel,  and  his  Child  —  his  good  Angel,  whom 
he  had  to  entertain,  and  felt  so  blessed  to  be 
permitted  to  do  so.  And  so  he  must  paint 
for  her  God  the  Father,  the  Angels,  and  the 
beautiful  meek  Apostle  John.  He  gave  her 
Milk,  or  Honey,  to  nourish  the  Flowers,  or  a 
drop  of  Wine  to  prolong  the  Lives  of  those 
that  were  fading  away ;  or  he  gave  her  the 
finest  Flowers  even,  that  she  might  press  them 
into  the  hand  of  the  Infant  Christ  —  and  when 
they  fell,  she  wept  that  it  would  not  take  them. 
Her  Mother  called  all  that  Folly,  or  a  wasting 
of  the  gifts  of  God.  Then  when  Winter  had 
arrived,  and  the  Birds  came  thronging  to  the 
windows,  hungry  and  covered  with  Snow,  he 
persuaded  the  Child,  who  was  now  nearly 
three  years  old,  that  they  came  to  greet  her 
from  old  Father  Winter  with  an  Icicle  instead 
of  a  Beard,  and  remained  now  to  see  her; 
and  that  they  were  glad  when  she  was  neat 
and  prettily  dressed.  Then  the  Father  could 
work!  for  she  sat  at  the  window  for  hours, 
nicely  dressed  in  her  Mother's  golden  Hood, 
in  order  that  the  Sparrows  might  rejoice  over 
7 


98  A  LITTLE  AGNES. 

her.  Or  when  he  described  to  her  the  distress 
of  the  poor  Birds,  and  how  cold  they  were, 
then  she  sewed  a  little  warm  Coat  for  the 
Snow-king  [the  Wren],  which  indeed  was  nev- 
er finished,  for  the  silk  thread  had  no  knot, 
and  always  came  through.  When  she  found 
in  the  street  one  day  a  frozen  Yellowhammer 
with  a  bright  golden  crest,  she  wept,  thinking 
that  the  Snow-king  had  been  frozen  —  and 
that  she  was  the  cause  of  his  Death,  because 
she  had  not  made  his  Winter  Clothing.  But 
her  father  showed  her  another  that  was  flying 
joyfully  —  and  then  she  laughed  loud  with  de- 
light, and  was  not  angry  that  he  had  so  ter- 
rified her !  Whatever  he  gave,  he  said  of  it : 
God  sent  it  to  her ;  God  blows  away  the 
Clouds ;  God  paints  early  in  the  morning  the 
Flowers  on  the  panes  of  glass.  And  do  we 
grown  Children  understand  better  or  more  de- 
voutly ?  In  short,  an  Artist,  who  does  not 
marry,  and  has  not  Children,  or  has  not  had 
thtem,  has  never  been  in  the  World,  never 
yet  in  the  beauteous  tender  World  which  he 
must  experience  —  even  if  it  should  cost  him 
Thousands  of  Tears. 

For   all  that  —  and  it  was  when  compared 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  99 

with  such  infinite  Happiness  only  a  sweet 
Punishment  —  the  Mother  always  called  the 
little  girl  to  him  Thy  Child!  When  in  his 
absence  she  had  wished  to  help  him  on  with 
his  Paintings,  and  spoiled  here  and  there  a 
drapery  in  the  Picture  by  an  ill-conducted  pen- 
cil, the  Mother  said  when  he  came  back :  Thy 
Child  did  it;  —  if  Drawings  were  quite  disfig- 
ured with  black  chalk,  so  that  they  could  not 
be  recognised,  or  Papers  cut  to  pieces,  which 
the  Mother  herself  considered  to  be  —  only  Pa- 
per, then  it  was :  Thy  Child  did  it !  For  her 
Mother  never  restrained  her,  and  the  Father 
could  do  nothing  else  than  mildly  reprove 
what  the  Daughter  had  meant  so  well.  Then 
Agnes  smiled  and  left  them. 

But  the  Feelings  of  Children  are  inconceiv- 
ably delicate  and  just.  Little  Agnes  soon  saw 
how  unhappy  her  Father  was  in  his  Home, 
how  little  he  was  valued.  Albert  had  per- 
ceived and  learnt,  first  of  all,  from  her  own 
Mouth,  how  much  it  grieved  the  loving  little 
One  to  see  him  so  ill-used.  He  saw  it  also  in 
her  soft  blue  Eyes.  But  he  saw  it  meekly 
and  silently. 

When   Albert    visited    a    Friend    one    day, 


100  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

against  the  inclinations  of  Agnes,  who  feared 
that  he  might  perhaps  complain  of  her,  and 
thereby  make  public  what  appeared  to  her 
quite  allowable  in  private  —  and  came  home 
late,  that  she  might  not  be  awake,  and  yet 
found  her  keeping  watch  with  the  Child,  who 
had  waited  for  her  Father  that  she  might  go 
to  bed  with  him  —  then  the  Mother  scolded  him 
and  called  him  a  Waster  of  Time  and  Money 
—  a  Man  addicted  to  worldly  Pleasures,  while 
she  toiled  away  for  ever  in  secret  at  Home,  and 
had  never  had  a  single  happy  Hour  with  him. 

Thereupon  he  sat  down,  and  closed  his 
Eyes;  but  Tears  may  have  secretly  gushed 
forth  from  under  his  Eyelids.  Then  the  Child 
sighed,  pressed  him,  and  kissed  but  said  at  the 
same  time  to  her  Mother  in  childish  Anger : 
Thou  wilt  one  day  bring  down  my  Father  to 
the  Grave  !  then  thou  wilt  repent  it.  Every- 
body says  so. 

The  Mother  wished  to  tear  her  from  his 
arms.  But  he  hindered  her,  wishing  to  punish 
his  Child  himself.  These  were  the  first  blows 
he  had  ever  given  her.  The  Child  stood  trem- 
bling and  motionless. —  Do  not  beat  her  on  my 
account !  certainly  not  on  my  account !  ex- 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  101 

claimed  Agnes,  thus  indirectly  irritating  him 
still  more.  The  Father,  however,  struck.  But 
in  the  midst  of  the  Sadness  and  at  the  same 
time  of  the  Anger  which  his  Sufferings  caused 
him,  he  observed  at  length  for  the  first  time  that 
his  little  Daughter  had  turned  round  between 
his  knees,  and  that  he  had  struck  her  with  a 
rough  hand  on  the  stomach !  He  was  horror- 
struck  ;  he  staggered  away,  threw  himself  upon 
his  .Bed  and  wept  —  wept  quite  inconsolably. 
But  the  Child  came  after  him,  stood  for  a  long 
time  in  silence,  then  seized  his  hand,  and  be- 
sought him  thus  :  My  Father,  do  not  be  angry ! 
I  shall  so  soon  be  well  again.  My  Mother 
says  thou  hast  done  right.  Come,  let  me  pray 
and  go  to  bed.  I  have  only  waited  for  thee. 
Now  the  little  Sand-man  comes  to  close  my 
Eyes.  Come,  take  me  to  thee;  I  will  cer- 
tainly for  the  future  remain  silent,  as  thou 
dost!  Hearest  thou?  art  thou  asleep?  dear 
Father!  — 

This  danger  then  appeared  to  be  overpast. 

Almost  luckily,  might  the  guilty  Father's 
Heart  say,  the  little  Agnes  had  some  time 
afterwards  a  dangerous  Fall ;  —  luckily  !  —  in 
order  that  he  might  not  further  imagine  that 


102  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

he  was  the  cause  of  the  Child's  Death.  She 
continued  sick  from  that  day,  became  worse, 
and  no  Physician  could  devise  aught ;  even 
Wilibald,  who  had  studied  seven  years  at  Pa- 
dua and  Bologna,  only  pressed  the  hand  of  the 
Father.  That  was  intelligible  enough. 

All  the  feelings  of  the  Mother  were  again 
roused.  The  little  Agnes's  Birthday  happened 
on  the  Holy  Christmas  Eve.  Firmly  resolved 
to  have  the  little  golden  Hood  and  the  white 
Frock,  Albert,  unknown  to  the  Mother,  had 
got  them  made  in  the  City,  and  paid  for.  The 
Birthday  Present  shone  in  the  twilight  in  the 
midst  of  the  Christmas-tree,  which  had  not  yet 
been  lighted  up.  The  Mother  saw  it.  She 
stood  confounded  as  well  as  deeply  mortified; 
and  a  Remorse  seized  her,  which  broke  out 
almost  into  a  rage  against  Albert.  He  wished 
to  leave  the  room ;  but  at  the  door  his  Knees 
failed  him.  Agnes  hastened  after  him,  seized 
him,  supported  him  in  her  arms,  scolded  him 
and  wept  with  him,  while  he  sobbed  and 
struggled  in  vain  for  composure.  She  made 
him  lie  down.  Then  she  lighted  up  the  Christ- 
mas-tree, and  the  Father  saw,  but  only  as  in 
a  Dream,  everything  prepared.  When  all  was 


A   LITTLE  AGNES.  103 

ready  she  said  to  him :  Bring  thy  Child,  and 
he  did  so.  But  the  joy  of  the  Child  was  ex- 
tinguished; she  lifted  up  the  little  golden  Hood 
and  the  white  Frock  — but  scarcely  smiled, 
and  hid  herself  on  her  Father.  The  Angel 
at  the  top  of  the  Christmas-tree  took  fire  ;  it 
blazed  up.  And  the  Child  admired  in  her 
little  hand  the  Ashes  of  the  Angel  and  the 
remnant  of  Tinsel  from  the  wings. 

During  the  Night  the  Child  suddenly  sat  up- 
right. Her  Father  talked  with  her  for  a  long 
time.  Then  she  appeared  to  fall  into  a  slum- 
ber, but  called  again  to  him  and  said  in  a 
low  voice :  Dear  Father !  Father,  do  not  be 
angry ! 

Wherefore  should  I  be  angry,  my  Child  ? 

Ah !    thou  wilt  certainly  be  very  angry  ? 

Tell  me,  I  pray  thee,  what  it  is! 

But  promise  me  first! 

Here,  thou  hast  my  Hand.  Why,  then,  am 
I  not  to  be  angry  ? 

Ah !  Father,  because  I  am  dying !  But  weep 
not!  weep  not  too  much!  My  Mother  says 
thou  needest  thine  Eyes.  I  would  willingly  — 
ah !  how  willingly  —  remain  with  thee,  —  but 
I  am  dying! 


104  A   LITTLE  AGNES. 

Dear  Child,  thou  must  not  die !  The  Suf- 
fering would  be  mine  alone ! 

Then  weep  not  thus !  Thou  hast  already 
made  me  so  sorry !  —  ah  !  so  sorry  !  Now  I 
can  no  longer  bear  it.  Therefore  weep  not ! 
Knowest  thou  that  when  thou  used  to  sit 
and  paint  and  look  so  devout,  then  the  beau- 
tiful Disciple  whom  thou  didst  paint  for  me, 
stood  always  at  thy  side  ;  I  saw  him  plainly ! 

Now  I  promise  thee,  I  will  not  weep !  said 
Albert,  thou  good  little  soul !  Go  hence  and 
bespeak  a  Habitation  for  me  in  our  Father's 
House ;  for  thee  and  for  me ! 

Albert  now  tried  to  smile,  and  to  appear 
composed  again.  Then  Agnes  exclaimed :  Be- 
hold !  there  stands  the  Apostle  again !  He 
beckons  me !  —  shall  I  go  away  from  thee  ? 
—  Oh  Father ! 

With  strange  curiosity  Albert  looked  shud- 
dering around.  Of  course  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen.  But  whilst  he  looked  with  tear- 
ful Eyes  into  the  dusky  room,  only  for  the 
purpose  of  averting  his  looks  —  the  lovely 
Child  had  slumbered  away. 

The  Father  laid  aU  the  Child's  little  Play- 
things into  the  Coffin  with  her  —  that  he 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  105 

and  her  Mother  might  never  more  be  reminded 
of  her  by  them  —  the  little  Gods,  the  Angels, 
the  little  Lamb,  the  little  Coat  for  the  Snow- 
king,  and  the  little  golden  Pots  and  Plates. 
Over  the  whole,  Moss  and  Rose-leaves.  There- 
on was  she  now  bedded.  Thus  she  lay,  her 
Countenance  white  and  pure,  for  the  mark, 
the  purple  Cross,  had  disappeared  with  the 
Blood  from  her  Cheeks.  And  now  for  the 
first  time  she  had  on  the  white  Frock,  and- 
the  golden  Hood  encircled  her  little  Head,  but 
not  so  close  as  to  prevent  a  Lock  of  her  Hair 
escaping  from  beneath. 

Her  Father  then  sat  down  in  front  of  her, 
and  painted  his  Child  in  her  Coffin.  But  the 
sight  overpowered  him ;  he  could  not  bear  it 
for  wretchedness.  The  Evening  Twilight  was 
come  ;  he  laid  himself  on  his  Couch,  and  felt 
the  Pangs  and  dreamed  the  Thoughts  expressed 
in  the  Distich  which  Wilibald  sent  to  him  : 

Harsh  Death !  why  hast  thou  from  me  ta'en  the  lovely  Child  ?  —  I 

had 
In  it  an  Angel  —  thou  a  little  Coffin  with  its  Dust ! 

#  *  #  # 

See  there  the  Playthings  idle  stand;  on  them  alluringly 
The  early  Sun  shines  down,  and  I  as  one  transfixed  stand  by. 


106  A   LITTLE   AGNES. 

Whether  it  lived?  or   whether  died?  the  Child  now  knows  it 

not! 
I  know  it  well,  and  with  the  Child  into  the  Grave  am  sinking. 

*  *  #  # 

Weep  and  lament!  and  yet  into  the  Earth  they  bear  thy  Child; 
Weep  and  lament!  and  yet  to  thee  it  ne'er  returns  again. 

*  *  #  # 

A  thousand  Mother's  have  been  thus  bereft!  shall  that  me  com- 
fort? 
Ah!  now  I  only  mourn  the  more!  I  also  mourn  for  them. 

*  *  *  * 

A  Father's  Heart  is  broken.  Death!  thou  hast  had  thy  Tri- 
umph. 

Henceforth  in  Heaven  I  put  my  trust;  but  in  the  Earth  no 
more. 

*  *  *  * 

If  Sorrow  to  the  Child  thou  thoughtst  to  bring,  oh  Death !  thou 

art  deceived; 
For  Yesterday  it  living  laughed;  To-day,  tho'  dead,  it  smiles. 

*  #  *  # 

This  is  —  Consolation!  and  for  the  Child  thy  bitt'rest  Pain 
Is  at  an  end.    Thine  own  is  —  Love!  so  bear  it  now,  as  once 
It  did  enrapture  thee !  and  if  thou  know'st  the  Life  of  Love, 
Then  wilt  thou  henceforth  love  the  Dead,  and  live  for  her  that 
sleeps. 

*  #  #  * 

Agnes  now  entered  timidly,  with  a  light  in 
her  hand ;  she  gazed  around  her,  advanced, 
and  looked  if  Albert  was  asleep.  Having  con- 
cluded that  he  was  so,  she  went  in  front  of 
the  Child,  beheld  with  a  pallid  Countenance 
the  pure  Cheek,  and  bending  down,  the  poor 


A   LITTLE   AGNES.  107 

soul  continued  weeping  for  a  long  time  over 
the  Child,  trying  at  the  same  time  to  encir- 
cle her  with  her  arms.  She  held  the  light  to 
the  little  golden  Hood,  took  it  off,  cut  off 
some  of  the  beautiful  soft  Hair,  concealed 
it  in  her  Bosom,  placed  the  little  Hood  again 
on  the  Head  over  which  she  had  just  been 
weeping,  sprinkled  the  little  Angel  with  Holy 
water,  knelt  at  her  feet  and  prayed  —  then 
stole  away  silently  as  she  had  come,  and 
disappeared  like  a  Spirit. 

What   must   have   been   his   Thoughts! 


How  Albert  bids   Farewell  to   his 

Wife. 

L  B  E  R  T '  S  greatest,  yea,  almost 
his  only  Joy  in  Life  was  now 
gone,  and,  as  he  well  knew,  irre- 
coverably gone.  Agnes  might  well  imagine 
what  must  now  have  been  his  feelings.  She 
had  already,  in  times  past,  prophesied  evil 
days,  if  his  Child  should  die.  But  it  was 
not  so :  he  was  silent ;  the  Mother  was  si- 
lent ;  the  Child  was  never  more  named  be- 
tween them ;  the  Remembrance  of  her  died 
away  by  degrees  from  among  Men,  of  whom 
she  had  scarcely  seen  any.  His  Marriage 
remained  Childless;  and  thus  every  one,  es- 
pecially in  after  years,  believed  that  a  Child 
had  never  blessed  him ;  and  those  who  piqued 
themselves  on  their  knowledge  of  Mankind 
accounted  for  Agnes's  deep  Dejection  solely 
and  confidently  from  the  circumstance  of  her 
being  Childless.  And  a  Motherless  Child  is 


HOW   ALBERT   BIDS   FAREWELL   TO   HIS  WIFE.   109 

only  half  as  unblest  as  a  Childless  Wife,  who, 
shut  out  from  her  natural  sphere,  and  scarce- 
ly to  be  amused  by  Vanities,  sees  her  fairest 
Hopes  cut  off.  She  pines  away  and  bends 
towards  the  ground  like  a  half-cut  Vine-branch, 
and  never  stands  joyfully  erect,  nor  looks 
cheerfully,  loaded  by  her  own  Abundance, 
on  the  ripening  Grapes  of  the  neighbour- 
stocks.  And  this  Sorrow  is  the  more  sting- 
ing because  the  subject  is  always  both  kindly 
and  painfully  evaded  by  others ;  it  must  there- 
fore be  suppressed  and  endured  in  silence, 
and  yet  can  never  be  forgotten.  And  thus 
this  supposed  Sorrow  passed  current  as  an 
—  excuse  for  Agnes,  and  Albert  confirmed 
the  convenient  belief  from  Love  to  her,  and 
Respect  for  himself — at  least  he  did  so  by 
Silence  on  the  subject  of  his  little  Daughter. 

Some  Lines  which  he  found  in  his  coat  on 
returning  home  from  the  Churchyard,  contrib- 
uted the  most  to  his  further  satisfaction.  They 
thus  addressed  him : 


A  Way  I  know,  by  which  them  on  thyself 
Revenge  canst  take  for  all  the  Ills  that  others 
To  thee  do.     Angry  must  thou  be!     Grievous 
To  thee  is  this  Life?    Offers  it  only, 


110  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

Misery,  and  Sickness,  and  dire  Poverty, 

And  num'rous  Hardships?    Then  thou  must  murmur! 

Or  fleeting  is  this  World,  and  full  of  Death  ? 

Then  thou  must  grieve !     Thyself  thou  punish' st  thus, 

For  others'  Faults. But  if  thou'rt  truly  Wise, 

With  Patience  thou' It  endure  whatever 

Is  and  must  be;  and  in  thy  pious  Soul 

Thyself  thou  wilt  rejoice — that  pious  Soul 

Which  all  surmounts,  and  thee  of  nought  doth  rob. 

And  if  the  Fate  of  those  by  thee  beloved 

Doth  cause  thee  Grief,  then  think:  they  suffer  nought, 

As  thou,  if  truly  Pious.    Weep'st  thou  still?  — 

Then  think:  that  Love  thy  fancied  Sorrow  is! 

And  be  thou  blest,  as  Love  makes  all  who  feel  it! 

And  now  Albert  drew  a  Picture  of  himself 
in  his  seven-and-twentieth  year,  prompted  by 
the  following  motive.*  He  saw,  namely,  how 
much  his  Countenance  and  his  whole  Form 
had  changed  in  a  few  years,  and  he  wished 
to  keep  —  to  preserve  the  Remembrance  of 
himself,  at  least  in  a  Picture  —  in  case  he 
should  soon  look  paler  and  more  wretched. 
He  disclaimed  the  idea  of  making  any  one 
happy  by  it,  or  that  he  could  make  himself 
so  by  means  of  a  warmly-reflected  Image  of 
Happiness.  To  an  upright  man,  indeed,  Hap- 

*  Master  Albert  sent  this  Picture  of  himself  to  Florence  to  An- 
drea del  Sarto.    It  founded  his  Fame  in  Italy. 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  Ill 

piness  is  not  necessary.  God  knows  well 
upon  whom  he  can  lay  the  Evil  which  is  as 
it  were  unavoidable  in  His  World,  so  that  it 
weighs  little  or  nothing  on  those  who  must 
bear  it  —  on  the  Patient  and  the  Pure  in 
Heart.  Therefore  Albert  thanked  God  even 
for  this,  which  he  reflected  on  gladly,  that  of 
all  the  Houses  in  the  World,  his  was  the  best 
into  which  his  Agnes  could  have  come,  where 
she  was  as  happy  as  it  was  possible  for  her 
to  be,  untroubled  and  uninjured. 

He  now  threw  himself  entirely  into  the  arms 
of  his  Art:  not  as  to  a  Refuge,  but  that  he 
might  be  independent  and  free  from  the  World, 
as  he  had  always  formerly  wished,  and  yet 
hoped  not  so  to  be.  This,  however,  when 
attained,  was  quite  indifferent  to  him !  He 
now  began  his  "  Little  Passion,"  his  favour- 
ite Work,  in  whose  Features  he  as  it  were 
deposited  all  his  Feelings,  or  depicted  these 
under  their  quiet  Sunshine,  their  full  Glow 
and  Power. 

But  the  Death  of  his  Father  drew  him  again, 
Heart  and  Thoughts,  into  the  rough  World. 
The  God-fearing  Man  had  Spent  all  the  hard- 
earned  Gainings  of  his  Hand,  in  bringing  up 


112  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

his  Children  under  such  wholesome  training 
and  discipline  as  would  render  them  accepta- 
ble to  God  and  Man.  He  was  patient,  meek, 
peaceable  towards  every  Man;  and  in  the 
midst  of  perpetual  honest  Struggles,  diverse 
Afflictions,  Attacks,  and  Reverses,  he  had 
never  been  able  to  enjoy  much  Society  or 
worldly  Comfort.  His  Son  Albert  had  no  wish 
for  what  his  Father  had  never  been  able  to 
attain,  and  thus  retired  and  peaceable  like 
him,  he  yet  excelled  him  in  Contentment. 

Alberts  Mother  Barbara  was  now  old  and 
poor.  It  was  needful,  not  that  her  Son  should 
repay  her,  for  that  was  impossible  —  but  that 
he  should  show  his  Love  to  her  by  fostering 
her  and  providing  for  her  comfort  in  her  old 
Age,  as  she  had  fostered  him  and  provided  for 
his  comfort  in  his  Youth.  His  Father  had  been 
made  happy  by  her — had  been  so  indeed  chief- 
ly through  her.  She  had  always  only  modestly 
asked  for  what  she  wished;  and  what  he  dis- 
creetly signified  to  be  his  Wish,  that  she  had 
always  done.  But  for  two  whole  years  Agnes 
prevented  her  Husband  from  taking  his  Mother 
home  to  his  house.  Albert  was  indignant  at 
this  ;  and  Agnes,  in  her  turn  —  as  if  his  Mother 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  113 

understood  Housekeeping  better,  and  were  now 
to  guide  her — was  angry  at  his  Displeasure. 
He  held,  however,  inwardly  and  unalterably 
firm  to  what  was  right.  He  had  also  taken 
his  Brother  Johannes  into  his  house,  to  instruct 
him  in  his  Art,  but  was  obliged,  to  make  up 
for  this,  to  send  away  Andreas*  whom  he  as- 
sisted secretly,  that  he  might  travel  and  im- 
prove himself  in  his  Art. 

When  Albert  now  went  out,  his  Friends 
pressed  his  hand  more  warmly.  They  praised 
his  Paintings,  his  Woodcuts,  his  Relievos,  and 
his  other  pieces  of  Sculpture,  beyond  all 
bounds.  For  an  honest  Master  certainly  knows 
first  and  best  which  of  his  Works  is  good,  and 
how  accomplished.  And  no  one  knows  so  well 
as  he,  what  he  has  intended  to  produce.  There- 
fore he  knows  also  what  he  has  performed,  and 
what  he  has  left  behind,  God  knows  where. 
He  marked  well  also  the  Motive  of  their  Praise 
—  and  he  bore  it.  The  whole  City  knew  also  ! 

*  This  brother  Andreas  was  his  sole  heir,  inheriting  house, 
business,  and  all  his  works  of  art.  Of  these,  however,  he  took  so 
little  care,  that  the  plates  were  abstracted  in  great  numbers;  and 
it  was  at  this  time  that  so  many  bad  impressions  were  taken  from 
the  original  plates.  Andreas  was  married,  but  died  also  without 
children.  —  Translator. 

8 


114  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

but  Agnes  imagined  not  that  they  knew,  until 
one  day  a  Marforio  Verse,  in  the  form  of  a 
short  Conversation,  was  sent  to  her,  she  knew 
not  how.  It  was  entitled  : 

"THE   MASTER  IN  THE  HOUSE." 

Wife.       Under  the  Table  to  retire  you  dare. 

Husband.  Here  safer  am  I,  sure,  than  anywhere  ! 

Wife.  Come  forth  directly. 

Husband.  That  will  I  not  do  ! 

Wife.        Shall  I  bend  down,  and  so  take  hold  of  you? 
How  very  bold  now  all  at  once  you  are  ! 

Husband.  My  dear,  one  grows  at  length  an  Iron  Bar  : 

Here,  'neath  the  Table,  will  I  show  you,  Spouse, 
That  I  alone  am  Master  in  the  House  ' 

These  exaggerated  words  struck  home.  It 
is  all  over  between  us,  said  she,  softly  and  al- 
most weeping.  Her  words  moved  him  even  to 
tears,  and  he  could  not  throw  off  the  impres- 
sion they  made  on  his  mind.  She,  however, 
soon  got  out  of  humour  again,  and  the  more 
regardlessly  so,  since  her  Conduct  in  Life  was 
now  so  well  known  that  she  could  no  longer 
conceal  it  even  from  herself  by  a  Veil  of  Mys- 
tery. Thus  Evil  as  well  as  Good  is  augment- 
ed by  Publicity. 

An  unamiable  Wife  does  infinite  harm,  when 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  115 

by  her  conduct  she  makes  all  other  Women 
distasteful  to  her  husband.  For  the  Wife  is 
the  Husband's  Glass,  through  which  he  con- 
templates  the  World ;  she  is  the  Tuning-ham- 
mer of  his  Soul.  But  she  does  him  still  greater 
harm  when  she  makes  others  dear  to  him  ;  that 
is  to  say,  when  we  learn  to  feel  and  observe 
as  it  were  to  the  Glory  of  God,  that  He  has 
made  a  fair  and  excellent  Work  when  he 
created  Eve  out  of  a  rib  of  her  Husband,  and 
now  freely  repeats  the  Work,  as  countlessly  as 
the  Sand  of  the  Sea.  For  Alberts  Love  was 
now  to  sustain  a  hard  trial. 

Pirkheimer's  Spouse,  Crescenzia,  had  been 
taken  away  from  him.  Alas !  poor  Man !  — 
for  he  had  become  poor,  rich  as  he  was.  He 
desired  to  have  a  Picture  of  her  thus :  himself 
weeping  at  the  foot  of  her  Bed,  and  kneeling 
as  he  then  knelt ;  Crescenzia  receiving  extreme 
Unction,  and  holding  the  Wax- Taper  and  the 
Crucifix.  At  the  bed  was  to  be  standing  also, 
his  Sister,  the  Nun  of  Santa  Clara. 

Her  Picture  —  the  Child  had  also  been  al- 
lowed to  spoil.  It  thus  cost  a  walk  to  the 
Convent. 

Clara  was  sitting  in  the  Parlour.     She  was 


116  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

unveiled,  patiently  awaiting   him,  and  greeted 
him   softly  with  a  smile,  and  a  delicate  Blush 

—  for  Virgin  Modesty  why  she  was  there  —  was 
only    perceptible    because   she   looked   so  very 
pale.     When  she  saw,  however,  how  Years  had 
gnawed   on   him  —  and  a   Woman   sees   at   a 
glance,  as  the  Gardener  sees  by  the  Fruit  how 
the   tree   is   flourishing,  the  Fruit  of  his   past 
Life,  yea  the  Soul  of 'Man  in  his  Countenance 

—  then  her  features  assumed  the  sadness  which 
he  needed  for  the  Scene  !     A  difficult  Picture ! 
But  his   Soul  held  the   Colours.      He  thought 
not :  If  this  sweet  form,  this  gentle  Clara  were 
thy  Agnes  !  —  Ah  no !   he  scarcely  thought,  If 
thy  Agnes  were   like   her!      For   his   Father's 
will  was   sacred   to   him,  and   sacred  —  her  he 
loved ;  for  it  was  because  he  loved,  that  he  now 
suffered !   and  because  she  would  not  love  him 
that  she  suffered ! 

He  finished  the  Tablet,  which  was  destined 
for  the  Church  of  St.  Sebaldus,  in  his  own 
house,  and  wrote  thereon  the  Latin  Inscription 
in  gilt  letters.  Agnes  stood  and  looked  at  it, 
and  made  out  the  beginning :  Mulieri  Incom- 
parabili  —  then  asked  what  all  the  rest  of  the 
words  meant  ?  Albert  wished  to  be  silent ;  but, 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  117 

after  having  composed  himself,  he  said  to  her, 
They  are  — "  To  the  incomparable  Woman  and 
Wife,  my  Clara  Crescenzia,  I,  Wilibald  Pirk- 
heimer,  her  Husband,  whom  she  never  dis- 
turbed *  but  by  her  Death,  erect  this  Monu- 
ment." 

Agnes  was  angry,  as  if  he  had  said  these 
words  to  her  from  his  own  Heart !  and  Clara, 
the  pale  Nun,  who  in  the  Picture  was  looking 
away  from  Crescenzia  for  sorrow,  now  seemed 
to  look  at  her!  But  no  Tear  fell  from  her 
Eye.  Albert  alone  wept. 

He  prepared  himself  now  for  his  Journey. 
And  as  he  parted  from  his  Mother,  she  gave 
him  her  hand,  held  it  for  a  time,  and  only 
gently  said :  Rely  meanwhile  on  thy  Wife !  I 
dare  not  allow  it  to  be  remarked  how  much  I 
love  thee,  else  she  will  become  my  Enemy. 
Whoever  does  not  consider  her  in  the  right, 
becomes  suspicious  to  her.  And  yet  she  is 
excellent,  as  excellent  as  her  Sister,  who  is  firm 
in  Honour;  and  both  are  certainly  God-fearing 
Women !  But  yet  it  is  evident,  and  I  must 
myself  confess  it,  Fidelity  is  only  one  Virtue  in 
a  Woman,  and  perhaps,  for  as  sacred  and  es- 

*  Turbavit  —  grieved.—  W.  P. 


118  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

sential  as  it  is  —  yet  not  the  best.  For  the 
peace  of  her  Husband  she  must  possess  many 
others  besides.  It  were  certainly  better,  as 

Pirkheimer  said *  Yet  believe  me,  she 

reserves  her  Love  for  thee  alone,  perhaps  till 
she  —  or  till  thou 

She  broke  off. 

Albert  remained  more  than  a  year  in  Venice. 
And  here,  placed  again  in  the  living  wrestling 
World,  full  of  young  Minds  who  were  opening 
up  new  Paths,  he  perceived  how  salutary  it  is 
for  an  Artist  to  tear  himself  away  from  his 
circumscribed  path  in  the  midst  of  his  days, 
that  he  may  once  more  have  a  free  view  of  his 
fellow-creatures  in  the  world  around  him.  He 
becomes  young  again.  His  Life  has  two 
Springs.  He  receives  new  impressions,  and  by 
means  of  already  cultivated  Art,  executes  what 
he  has  newly  conceived  with  Mind  and  Vigour. 
He  thus  once  more,  as  it  were,  branches  out, 
and  new  Tendrils  shoot  forth  —  and  only  on 

*  What  he  said,  will  be  found  in  the  Life  of  Albert  Diirer  by 
Roth,  published  at  Leipzig  by  Dyk,  in  1791,  page  21.—  But  I  do  not 
wish  to  say  anything  injurious!  —  7,  The  Editor. 

This,  or  at  least  the  substance  of  it,  has  been  given  in  the  Pref- 
ace. —  Translator. 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  119 

young  yearly  Shoots  do  Grapes  grow !  Should 
he  neglect  this,  then  he  becomes  by  degrees 
stiff,  and  as  it  were  petrified,  even  in  those 
which  are  considered  his  best  Compositions. 

Alberts  Works  had  reached  even  to  that 
City ;  and  it  appeared  strange  to  the  Italians 
that  everything  good  and  beautiful  was  no 
longer  to  come  from  Rome  and  Byzantium,  and 
wander  towards  the  cold  North,  without  re- 
muneration in  the  way  of  Money ;  nay,  that 
Time  had  now  begun  to  reverse  the  order  of 
things,  and  that  Light  and  Power,  and  Reason 
and  Art,  should  now  come  towards  the  South 
from  the  Barbarians  to  the  sinking  Nations! 
And  what  he  had  devised  amidst  Sufferings 
and  Sorrow,  lying  on  his  couch  in  Silence  and 
in  Darkness,  and  afterwards  accomplished  in 
his  lonely  little  Chamber,  as  if  for  no  one  but 
himself,  now  shone  in  the  Sunshine  of  the 
Distance,  and  gave  Delight  to  Men.  Thus  he 
looked  upon  his  own  Works  with  Thankful- 
ness, and  stood  before  them  with  folded  hands. 
The  old  Masters  looked  at  him  sullenly;  those 
of  his  own  age  blushed ;  the  younger  were  full 
of  bashful  Ardour.  That  was  a  sufficient  re- 
ward for  him  for  all — besides!  It  imparted  to 


120  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

him  the  satisfaction  which  the  Artist,  almost 
burying  himself,  labours  Day  and  Night  to  at- 
tain. For  the  Mind  of  Man  is  wonderfully  and 
almost  laughably  formed ;  and  it  is  also  mod- 
estly limited  in  its  Desires.  For  all  his  lifelong 
Difficulties  and  Vexations,  he  desires  only  Rec- 
ognition, not  so  much  as  Praise.  Even  the 
Hound  runs  itself  to  death  after  the  Hare,  if 
his  Master  only  says  to  him,  thou  art  a  brave 
Apollo.  The  Soldier  who  is  accounted  brave 
goes  like  a  Demi-god  into  the  tumult  of  the 
Fight,  and  perishes  therein,  as  if  a  Man  could 
and  should  be  nothing  else  than  a  Slaughterer 
of  his  Fellow-men.  The  Wife  who  toils  dur- 
ing her  whole  Life  with  House  and  Field  and 
Children,  goes  fresh  under  the  yoke  again  on 
Monday  if  she  has  sat  for  an  Hour  well  dressed 
on  Sunday  afternoon,  and  traces  nothing  more 
of  the  World  than  God's  Sunshine  and  her  own 
weary  Hands,  if  her  Husband  only  says  to  her, 
Truly  thou  art  a  diligent  Wife,  and  dost  thy 
duty.  So  is  it  also  with  the  Artist.  These 
words,  "  Thou  hast  painted  a  good  Picture," 
satisfies  his  Heart — for  he  has  honestly  done 
that  which  the  Lord  has  given  him  ability  to 
do.  And  therefore  is  the  small  satisfaction  not 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  121 

contemptible ;  for  the  Work  which  the  Lord 
has  dealt  out  to  the  Human  Race  is  performed 
everywhere  with  fidelity,  but  in  truth  through 
Recognition  alone  —  and  without  Reward,  for 
it  yields  only  dear  Consciousness.  And  that 
is  enough  for  such  a  noble  creature  as  Man. 
He  labours  in  his  Father's  Vineyard,  and  is 
his  Child. 

But  other  Honours  also  awaited  him  in  Italy. 
The  Master  Bellini  wished  to  have  the  very 
Pencil  from  him  with  which  he  painted  Hair 
so  very  minutely,  and  yet  many  Hairs  at  a 
time.  Marcantanio  Raimondi  made  Counter- 
feits of  his  Plates.  Andrea  Mantegna  wished 
to  see  him,  and  wrote  to  him  with  a  trembling 
hand,  while  sick  unto  death.  He  went  to 
Padua,  and  found  the  incomparable  Master  — 
dead.  The  longing  had  kept  him  in  Life  till 
within  a  few  minutes  before  :  his  Eyes  were 
not  yet  closed.  In  Bologna  they  were  content 
to  die,  now  that  they  had  seen  him  Face  to 
Face  ;  —  so  enraptured  were  they  with  his 
Works.  The  almost  youthful  Raphael  Sanzio 
took  Alberts  simple  Landscapes  as  Back- 
grounds and  Corners  for  his  Pictures.  But 
false  reports  were  also  spread  among  the  peo- 


122  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

pie,  in  which  Lies  had  all  the  influence  and 
effect  of  Truth.  Buonarotti  was  said  to  have 
torn  Alberts  Drawings,  and  burnt  his  Paintings. 
No  Painter  does  that.  But  it  was  to  him  a 
signal  proof,  as  well  of  the  Incapacity  of  the 
World  to  judge,  going  on  as  it  does  eternally 
echoing  what  gifted  Spirits  have  suggested  ;  — 
and  that  is  a  sad  thing  for  the  genuine  Masters 
and  for  the  value  of  their  Art!  —  and  it  was 

partly  to  him  a  proof  of  this,  that  all   things 

%  » 

become  living  Legends,  Diligence  and  Skill,  as 

well  as  Life  and  Action  —  and  that  it  may  be 
considered  a  valuable  piece  of  good  fortune 
when  an  Artist  pleases  the  People,  for  he  has 
after  his  own  manner  responded  to  the  con- 
temporaneous tendency  and  manner  of  think- 
ing, and  exhibited  to  Mankind  what  they  were 
anticipating  and  striving  after.  When  these 
claims  are  extinguished  with  the  revolving  Gen- 
erations, then  he  becomes  nothing  but  a  mere 
Legend. 

Our  dear  Master  stood  much  in  need  of  this 
renewed  vigour  of  Heart  and  Mind,  when  he 
returned  home  to  his  Wife.  He  gave  her  an 
account  of  his  Expenses. 

While  he  stood  on  sure  ground,  and  excited 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  123 

also  by  the  cheerfulness  of  the  Italians,  he  had, 
to  please  her,  learned  to  dance.  But  so  irk- 
some did  he  find  it,  that  he  had  only  taken 
two  Lessons  :  this  cost  one  Ducat. 

It  was  indeed  impossible  for  him  to  transport 
himself  suddenly  into  the  midst  of  disturbing 
and  intoxicating  worldly  things,  from  the  faith- 
ful, devoted,  often  pious  Thoughts  which,  in- 
duced by  his  Art,  continually  occupied  his 
Mind  :  and  from  the  longing  retired  Feelings 
which  his  high  Conceptions  always  produced 
in  him ;  and  although  it  did  not  hurt,  but  rather 
on  the  contrary  furthered  him,  to  see  and  to 
hear  all  the  Merriment  of  the  People,  yet  he 
could  not  think  of  carrying  it  so  far  as  to  make 
a  moving  Doll  of  his  own  Body.  For  that  his 
feet  always  failed  him. 

The  Painters  had  sued  him  three  times, 
because,  without  belonging  to  tany  of  their 
Schools,  he  had  painted  in  Venice.  That  cost 
four  Florins. 

The  ride  to  Bologna,  to  improve  himself  in 
the  mysterious  Art  of  Perspectiva,  cost  money  — 
and  this  Art  could  not  be  exhibited  to  Agnes. 

He  had  intended  to  bring  her  a  piece  of 
oriental  woollen  Cloth  ;  but  the  house  in  which 


124  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

he  was  took  fire ;  the  oriental  Cloth  was  burnt. 
It  cost,  notwithstanding,  eight  Ducats. 

He  had  lent  eight  Ducats  to  a  poor  Painter, 
who  was  going  to  Rome  for  the  purpose  of  se- 
cretly disinterring  again  the  old  Pictures  which 
Raphael  had  left  choked  up  in  the  Baths.* 
But  the  man  died  at  Rome  in  his  debt. 

A  year  before  the  period  of  this  Journey, 
Raphael  had  sent  his  Picture  to  Albert,  painted 
elaborately  .by  himself ;  and  now  Albert  sent 
his  in  water  colours,  also  elaborately  painted, 
to  Raphael,  whose  Picture  of  the  Entombment 
of  Christ  had  become  the  foundation  of  his  fair 
Fame.f 

*  At  the  time  that  Raphaello  was  charged  by  Pope  Leo  X. 
with  the  decoration  of  the  Loggie  of  the  Vatican,  the  interior  of 
the  Baths  of  Titus  had  just  been  discovered.  The  paintings  were 
in  all  their  original  freshness  and  splendour,  of  a  brilliancy  of 
which  the  external  air  and  various  accidents  have  since  deprived 
them ;  thus  owing  their  entire  preservation  to  the  very  cause  which 
had  created  their  oblivion.  According  to  one  tradition,  Raphaello 
copied,  and  afterwards  destroyed,  some  portions  of  the  arabesque 
ornaments,  in  order  to  claim  the  invention  of  them ;  but  this  alle- 
gation has  been  fully  contradicted,  as  he  has  merely  adopted 
their  spirit  and  taste,  but  without  borrowing  from  them  a  single 
idea  of  any  importance.  See  the  "  Life  and  Works  of  Raphaello," 
by  Quatremere  de  Quincy. —  Translator. 

f  This  picture  is  now  the  chief  ornament  of  the  Borghese  gal- 
lery at  Rome.  —  Translator. 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  125 

Now,  because  Albert  had  brought  nothing 
Home,  and  had  only  mere  Projects  to  offer, 
Agnes  sold  the  Raphael  painted  by  Raphael, 
for  a  paltry  Sum  of  Money.  That  was  bitterer 
to  him  than  if  Raphael  had  sold  him.  For 
we  have  an  understanding  from  afar  with  him 
whose  Picture  we  possess :  the  Soul  sees  no 
Giant  in  a  misty  Form  ready  to  overthrow  us 
with  invisible  Weapons.  No,  he  looks  at  us 
as  lovingly,  as  quietly,  and  as  attentively  —  as 
we  look  at  him  ;  he  is  a  Man,  and  thus  we 
also  feel  humanly.  But  —  Albert  had  sent  his 
Picture  with  this  desire  also,  that  he  might  be 
judged  of  by  a  Master  in  his  own  department 
—  that  he  might  let  him  see  himself.  For  the 
Masters  are  the  true  Lights,  who  can  best  elu- 
cidate and  judge  of  Compositions  in  their  own 
Art.  Thus  only  can  a  Work  be  understood 
and  known  —  then  it  is,  indeed,  that  the  Mas- 
ter understands  his  own  Work !  To  be  judged 
of  by  the  World  in  general,  neither  improves 
nor  refreshes  him. 

But  all  these  Evils  were  atoned  for,  by  a 
great  Sum  of  Money,  nearly  Eleven  hundred 
Rhenish  Florins,  that  Albert  received  from  the 
Emperor,  Rodolph  //.,  for  a  Picture  of  the 


126  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

Martyrdom  of  St.  Bartholomew,  which  he  had 
painted  in  Venice,  and  which,  well  packed  in 
bales,  two  strong  Men  on  foot  had  carried  on 
Poles  from  Venice  to  Prague. 

Then  there  was  Joy  in  the  House  !  Mistress 
Agnes  prepared  some  strong  foaming  Choco- 
late, which  new  Beverage  she  had  heard  much 
vaunted,  and  with  long  suppressed  desire  to 
partake  of  it.  During  the  sipping  of  the  same, 
she  now  in  her  usual  way  spoke  of  everything 
which  she  would  procure,  as  pleasantly  as  the 
Drink  fell  pleasantly  on  her  Tongue.  The 
things  she  now  saw  so  sweetly  in  her  Mind's 
Eye,  she  afterwards  provided  herself  with  ; 
good  household  Furniture,  pretty  Dresses, 
Trunks,  Drawers,  Pewter  Vessels,  all  the 
requisites  for  Needlework.  Now  there  was 
Abundance  going  on  —  cutting,  sewing,  trim- 
ming and  putting  in  order !  At  last  Master 
Albert  laid  down  the  Receipt  before  her,  show- 
ing that  he  had  paid  the  whole  of  his  Debts 
in  Venice.  She  tore  the  paper  for  Joy.  When 
the  bright  Sun  shone  into  the  Room  and  the 
polished  Tin  glistened,  then  Agnes  sat  down 
pleasantly  and  played  again  on  the  Harp. 
She  smiled  quite  benignantly  Night  and  Morn- 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  127 

ing  from  beneath  the  new  Bedclothes.  She 
even  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  by  her  Hus- 
band in  a  Picture  which  represented  Adam  and 
Eve,  and  the  beautiful  Agnes  was  the  beautiful 
Eve.  Albert  had  for  a  long  time  wished  to 
draw  the  innocent  Pair,  but  had  never  ventured, 
for  want  of  an  Eve.  Now  he  succeeded  in  the 
Picture,  and  a  Stone  was  removed  from  his 
Heart.  He  also  struck  a  Medal  of  her.  In  it 
she  is  represented  with  her  innocent  lovely 
Countenance  looking  upwards.  She  was  de- 
lighted with  the  Design,  and  the  Master  was 
pleased  that  she  was  pleased.  Yet  she  wil- 
lingly took  Twelve  hundred  Rhenish  Florins 
for  the  picture  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  it  was 
hung  up  in  the  splendid  Hall  in  the  Fortress.* 
The  House  was  paid ;  and  then  Agnes  looked 
out  at  the  Window  with  him  one  Sunday  as 
the  people  were  coming  from  Church.  Her 
Locks  hung  beautifully  down  her  soft  Cheeks, 
and  the  Master  looked  through  between  them 
and  watched  with  delight  her  roguish  Eye. 

*  This  picture  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  palace  of  Prague.  The 
fortress  or  imperial  castle  of  Nurnberg  is  a  building  of  great  antiq- 
uity, where  the  Emperors  resided  during  the  middle  ages.  The 
King  of  Bavaria  now  uses  it  when  in  the  city.  —  Translator. 


128  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

She  was  quite  beautiful,  and  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  would  marry  her  again,  if 
she  had  not  already  been  his  Wife. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  hollow  Sound  of 
heavy  Footsteps  !  They  were  carrying  a  little 
Girl  in  an  open  Coffin,  adorned  with  garlands 
of  Flowers,  out  at  the  Gate.  The  Parents 
came  weeping  behind.  Agnes  changed  colour. 
Albert  went  from  the  Window. 

Alas !  that  the  Remembrance  of  the  old 
Days  should  spoil  the  new  !  that  Grief  is  born 
with  the  Death  of  those  dear  to  us !  He  who 
has  known  a  deep  and  bitter  Grief,  need  no 
longer  strive  after  Happiness,  but  only  after 
Peace,  after  inward  Composure  and  Forget- 
fulness ;  else  he  heaps  up  to  himself  Sorrow 
on  Sorrow ;  and  even  if  he  should  attain  to 
what  seems  the  Crown  of  Happiness,  yet  the 
Jewel  is  wanting  thereto,  the  ornamental  Stone 
—  in  the  Cross!  Therefore  lifelong  Meekness 
must  be  the  Portion  of  him  whose  Heart  is 
broken !  also  reverential  Resignation  to  Him 
who  has  ordained  it  for  him.  In  Piety  alone 
is  constant  satisfaction  to  be  found.  And  it 
is  God  who  has  given  him  this  also,  and  with 
it  all  things. 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  129 

Physicians  call  a  recurrence  of  the  same 
Malady  to  one  scarcely  recovered  a  Relapse; 
which  is  always  more  dangerous,  and  for  a 
longer  time  prostrating,  than  the  Sickness 
which  attacks  healthy  Persons ;  for  the  patient 
is  now  more  irritable.  —  Albert  was  moved  £ 
and  he  began  to  pity  Agnes  also.  Yet  —  even 
old  Wounds  that  have  been  torn  open,  close 
again  !  But  even  now,  in  her  more  prosperous 
condition,  Agnes  was  not  happy,  because  her 
Parents  were  still  in  indigence  !  Her  own 
better  Lot  oppressed  her!  He  sympathized 
with  her  Sorrow,  for  she  could  not  be  happy ; 
and  neither  could  he,  for  Happiness  seemed  out 
of  his  reach.  He  felt  the  prevailing  power  of 
Family  Ties,  which  bind  more  closely  than 
frivolous  persons  imagine,  for  in  this  way  Na- 
ture enlarges  the  circle  of  Domestic  Life  and 
gives  a  more  cordial  view  of  Man's  earthly  con- 
dition. A  Man  marries  not  only  his  Mother- 
in-law,  but  also  all  the  Relations  of  his  Wife. 
What  is  for  their  advantage  or  disadvantage 
affects  him  also.  He  is  not  rich  and  happy 
till  they  are  all  above  want.  The  World  there- 
fore considers  it  a  Disgrace  to  him  who  does 
not  feel  himself  still  more  bound  to  her  Family 
9 


130  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

than  he  is  to  his  Wife,  even  if  she  were  a 
Paragon,  a  Jewel  among  them.  So  much  the 
more  desirable  is  it,  therefore,  to  stand  well 
with  all  her  Relations,  be  they  who  they  may, 
because  otherwise  the  connection  once  entered 
into  brings  still  greater  Evils  with  it. 

Agnes  always  thought  that  Albert  looked 
down  upon  her  Family,  all  of  them  Artisans, 
with  the  exception  of  her  Father,  the  Optician, 
who  came  into  the  City  to  the  Festivals,  and 
played  on  the  Harp  and  sung ;  also  loved  a  good 
glass  of  Wine ;  also  could  not  refuse  the  last  — 
the  intoxicating  one,  after  which  he  came  and 
loaded  his  Daughter  with  Reproaches,  uttered 
with  a  smiting  mien,  till  he  moved  himself  to 
Tears  by  his  own  Admonitions!  Or  he  sang 
very  comically,  in  the  voice  of  the  Husband  and 
Wife  alternately,  the  Song  of  "  The  Master  in 
the  House."  Nay,  it  was  said  that  he  himself 
had  made  the  Song  to  show  his  Displeasure. 
This  irritated  his  Daughter,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed. Albert  smiled  at  the  old  man,  for  there 
is  Truth  in  Wine.  He  could  only  venture  now 
to  love  and  praise  the  poor  man  with  great  lim- 
itation ;  but  in  truth  he  esteemed  all  her  Rela- 
tions. For  him  there  was  neither  Condition 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  131 

nor  Rank  nor  Riches  in  the  World.  All  its 
thousand  Trifles, — its  thronging  and  striving 
and  outbidding,  troubled  him  not.  He  strove 
only  after  one  thing,  and  lived  in  a  World  of  his 
own.  Every  one  was  valued  by  him  at  what 
he  was ;  yea  he  even  rated  him  at  that  which  he 
wished  to  be ;  for  as  an  Artist  he  desired  him- 
self to  be  honoured,  as  one  who  knows  better 
than  all  others  what  is  the  true  genuine  worth 
of  everything  he  has  meditated,  and  which  he 
wishes  or  is  able  to  call  into  Existence.  Only 
he  now  learned  that  it  is  not  right  to  do  good 
too  secretly,  so  that  even  our  right  Hand,  our 
Wife,  knows  it  not.  Therein  he  was  wrong! 
For  in  this  way  many  who  are  in  Need  know 
not  where  to  find  Help. 

To  all  the  old  Burdens  was  now  added  this. 
And  as  Bodies  apparently  increase  in  Weight 
the  deeper  they  sink,  so  much  the  more  heavily 
presses  a  Burden  which  has  been  borne  Days, 
Months,  Years.  And  that  any  one  bears  it 
willingly,  lessens  only  the  Complaints  on  ac- 
count of  it.  He  wished  to  work,  she  wished 
Money ;  and  luckily  both  Desires  were  gratified. 
And  it  is  quite  reasonable  that  many  should 
strive  after  one  thing,  but  with  different  views  ; 


132  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

only  no  one  should  evil  interpret  those  of  the 
other,  or  force  his  own  upon  him.  It  was  thus 
that  Albert  learnt  to  represent  all  the  Passions, 
the  more  strikingly  they  were  painted,  yea  burnt 
into  the  peaceful  Mirror  of  his  Soul.  A  knowl- 
edge of  good  and  evil  Passions  furthers  the 
Artist :  Love,  Joy,  Pleasure,  Patience,  Compas- 
sion, Devotion,  Astonishment,  Horror,  Wrath, 
Sadness,  Envy,  Hatred  —  all  these  he  succeeded 
in  depicting,  because  he  was  Master  of  them ; 
and  with  thankful  and  upright  heart  he  con- 
sidered himself  fortunate  as  —  a  Painter,  and 
therefore  also  as  a  Man. 

Meanwhile  the  Passions  of  those  whom  we 
love  are  infectious!  And  Albert  painted  and 
carved  and  moulded  many  things  according  to 
her  Views  —  and  to  give  her  Pleasure.  His 
House  was  a  daily  School  of  Discipline  :  not  to 
be  avaricious,  or  sulky,  or  quarrelsome ;  or  yet 
dictatorial,  unreasonable,  and  supercilious  when 
everything  succeeded  to  a  wish.  For  all  the 
Faults  of  a  Man  usually  proceed  from  one  and 
the  same  source.  It  could  scarcely  be  said  that 
Fame  now  gave  him  Pleasure,  —  he  lived  by  it 
as  it  were  in  a  sustained  elevated  condition, 
which  exercised  an  advantageous  influence  on 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  133 

his  Works;  for  the  World  gains  for  the  most 
part  by  the  Praise  bestowed  by  itself  on  the 
Artist  —  and  when  Students  of  the  Arts  and 
Masters  made  a  Pilgrimage  from  Italy  to 
Frankfort  to  see  his  Ascension  of  St.  Mary,* 
he  only  uttered  a  gloomy  Indeed  ?  thereto.  For 
he  almost  feared  to  send  a  Painting  to  a  new 
place;  —  first  on  account  of  the  Praise  —  and 
then  on  account  of  the  Pity.  For  he  who  did 
not  admire  him  as  a  Painter,  and  yet  could  not 
well  contend  against  his  Worth,  concealed  his 
Envy  by  compassionating  him  as  a  Man  —  and 
then  he  could  call  him  an  unfortunate  Painter. 
A  confidential  Friend  recounted  to  him  that 
Buonarotti  had  determined  to  make  Art  his 
Wife;  and  it  was  also  said  of  Raphael,  that 
he  wished  rather  to  belong  to  Woman  in  gen- 
eral, than  that  one  Woman  should  belong  to 
/him. 

This  grieved  Albert  much,  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  Men  themselves,  but  chiefly  for 
Agnes's  sake.  He  laboured  much ;  and  by  de- 
grees, in  the  course  of  years,  many  Ducats  came 

*  This  magnificent  picture,  which  was  afterwards  bought  by  the 
Elector  Maximilian  of  Bavaria  for  10,000  florins,  perished  when  the 
Castle  of  Munich  was  burnt  in  1674.  —  Translator. 


134  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

in,  which  Agnes  brightened  up  and  preserved. 
They  were  all  indeed  to  be  for  her.  At  first  she 
only  meant  to  save  as  much  of  the  Gold  as 
would  keep  her  above  want  during  the  few  years 
she  might  outlive  him,  being  younger  than  he ; 
then,  there  must  be  sufficient  to  enable  her  to 
live  as  well  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  ; 
but  at  last,  the  Interest  of  the  Money  must  be 
sufficient  for  that  purpose.  So  true  is  it  that  the 
Children  of  Men,  all  of  them,  and  everywhere, 
are  born  with  an  equally  strong  desire  for  world- 
ly Prosperity.  They  wish  to  have  and  to  enjoy 
everything  ;  but  all  of  them  cannot  do  so.  And 
the  season  of  Youth  is  just  the  time  for  becom- 
ing inured,  under  the  parental  roof,  to  the  Con- 
dition which  must  be  entered  on  and  endured  in 
after  life,  and  in  which  success  may  probably  be 
obtained;  and  the  Father's  House  is  the  step 
from  which  this  Life  begins.  Man's  future  Life, 
therefore,  so  viewed,  is  just  the  Limitation  of  all 
the  Desires  of  the  human  Mind  to  the  Measure 
of  Right,  and  to  the  Standard  of  what  is  con- 
sistent with  the  well-being  of  others.  It  is  also 
at  the  same  time  the  School  of  Patience  and  of 
Wisdom  ;  it  teaches  every  one  to  be  content 
with  that  which  Life  can  afford  him ;  and  in 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  135 

what  has  been  vouchsafed  him,  to  discover  every 
human  Happiness,  to  carry  his  own  into  it,  or 
place  it  therein.  He  who  does  not  learn  from 
Life,  but  continues  during  its  whole  course  to 
put  forth  the  usual  Claims,  uncurbed  by  a  thou- 
sand Mortifications,  undiminished,  yea  louder 
and  more  angrily  —  he  must  be  dissatisfied,  the 
more  vehement  his  Longings,  the  greater  the 
Claims  that  Youth  and  Beauty,  Skill  and  good 
Fortune  in  general,  appear  to  give  him.  He 
does  not  prize  the  Blessings  which  he  possesses ; 
nay,  he  rejects  them  and  enjoys  them  not,  till  he 
becomes  wise  —  that  is  to  say,  till  they  vanish 
away  from  him. 

Alberts  Mother  Barbara  now  also  died.  She 
was  a  Daughter  of  Kunigunde,  the  Daughter  of 
Oelling-er  von  Weissenburg,  and  therefore  of 
gentle  Birth.  Agnes  had  imagined  that  she 
must  be  proud  and  look  down  upon  her  with 
contempt.  This  supposition  wounded  her  pure 
natural  Feelings,  and  her  notions  of  the  Dignity 
of  Human  Nature.  She  therefore  wished  to 
combat  it;  and  thus  his  Mother  had  to  endure 
scornful  Words,  Derision,  and  even  Fear.  But 
the  pious  Woman  suffered  nothing  therefrom, 
because  she  forgave  everything  to  the  Wife  of 


136  HOW   ALBERT   BIBS 

her  Son,  and  departed,  absolved  by  Papal  Power 
from  Pain  and  Guilt.  God  be  gracious  to  her ! 

She  had  lived  nine  years  in  her  Son's  house, 
and  he  missed  her  sadly ;  for  he  had  only  to  look 
into  her  eyes,  only  to  hear  an  encouraging  Word 
from  her  —  "  My  Son!"  —  and  he  was  refreshed 
and  meek  as  before.  Her  Eyes  were  now  closed 
—  what  could  he  have  done?  A  Man  is  no 
Judge  between  his  Mother  and  his  Wife  ;  and 
where  Love  does  not  reconcile,  all  other  at- 
tempts only  increase  the  Evil. 

There  was  now  indeed  greater  Stillness  in  the 
House  than  ever.  For  all  that  had  passed, 
Agnes  began  to  be  suspicious  even  of  the  Praise 
which  her  Husband  bestowed  on  her,  thinking  it 
was  only  in  Mockery.  How  ready  she  was  to 
apply  to  herself  what  was  passing  around  her, 
may  be  judged  of  by  this  instance,  that  one  day, 
when  he  wrote  a  large  Seven  on  the  black  table, 
as  the  product  of  a  mental  Calculation,  and 
then  went  away,  she  thought  it  alluded  to  her 
as  the  evil-renowned  Seven.*  If  he  smiled, 
then  she  wept ;  if  he  pitied  the  poor,  shy,  fright- 
ened Child,  then  she  laughed.  And  thus  he 

*  In  Germany  it  is  vulgarly  said  of  a  shrewish  or  mischievous 
woman,  that  she  is  a  Bad  Seven.  —  Translator. 


FAREWELL  TO   HIS   WIFE.  137 

passed  with  the  same  grave  undisturbed  mien 
through  the  hundred-coloured  Days.  She  called 
that  Indifference,  Coldness  !  But  he  would  not 
have  suffered  if  he  could  at  last  have  become 
indifferent  to  his  Wife.  The  Faults  of  those  we 
love  cause  us  double  Anguish  :  they  —  ah  !  they 
should  be  more  pure  and  faultless  than  we! 
And  she  never  confessed  a  Fault,  and  he  con- 
cealed them  from  himself,  and  still  hoped  for 
peaceful  Days  —  of  Harvest. 

Alberts  tender-hearted  Scholar  now  played 
him  a  sorry  Trick.  He  felt  for  his  Master  more 
than  if  he  had  been  his  Father,  and  thinking 
that  Alberts  Death  would  make  a  good  and 
lasting  Impression  on  Agnes^  he  had  strapped  on 
his  Bundle,  and  taken  leave  of  them,  but  had 
returned  in  the  dark  and  gone  into  Albert's 
painting  room.  He  then  put  the  pale  Wax 
Mask,  which  had  been  faithfully  copied  from 
Alberts  Bust,  on  a  clothed  Figure  which  was  to 
represent  Albert^  and  put  on  it  also  his  old 
Painter's  Coat  bedaubed  with  Colours. 

He  so  placed  it  as  to  lead  to  the  supposition 
that  it  had  fallen  from  the  Ladder,  and  poured 
dark-red  colours,  like  Blood,  over  it.  He  then 
knocked  suddenly  and  alarmingly  at  Agnes's 


138  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

door,  who  ran  into  the  Room  horror-struck  with 
a  Light  in  her  hand,  and  stood  astonished  and 
petrified  before  her  dead  Albert,  knelt  down  by 
him,  and  wiped  the  Blood  from  his  Forehead. 
Albert,  who  had  just  come  home,  then  entered; 
she  looked  round,  and  thought  it  was  his  Ghost 
that  she  saw  stalking  towards  her.  He  spoke, 
and  she  recognised  him,  but  thrust  him  from 
her  blood-red  with  Anger.  She  then  wished  to 
make  her  escape,  but  the  Light  having  been  ex- 
tinguished by  the  draught  from  her  dress,  she 
could  not  find  the  Door.  At  length,  both  hav- 
ing composed  themselves,  they  embraced  in  the 
Dark,  and  wept  bitterly. 

Dost  thou  know  what  has  happened,  my 
Agnes?  asked  Albert  at  last.  Thou  art  alive! 
said  she.  No,  replied  he  ;  Raphael  is  dead ! 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  is  dead!  These  tidings 
reached  me  to-day  at  the  same  moment! 

She  let  go  her  hold  of  him.  The  Might  of 
Heaven,  the  Nothingness  of  the  Earth,  which 
lay  in  these  Words  —  "  Raphael  is  dead !  "  fell 
like  a  Thunderbolt.  The  Night  was  amicably 
spent.  Agnes  besought  him  to  travel  into  the 
Netherlands,  and  to  accept  the  Emperor's  Invi- 
tation, that  he  might  have  Recreation.  Then 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  139 

he  would  certainly  no  longer  need  to  paint. 
She  was  as  much  struck  as  was  the  whole  of 
Europe.  Her  Husband  had  been  for  her  as  it 
were  twice  restored  to  Life  this  Day.  And  it 
is  quite  amazing,  and  borders  on  the  fabulous, 
how  much  a  great  Man  gains  by  the  Death  of  a 
great  Man.  He  rises  in  value  three-fold,  like  the 
Sibylline  Books.  Because  he  has  outlived  the 
other,  so  he  appears  also  to  outbid  him ;  Hope 
yet  shines  on  his  Path,  and  the  words  uttered 
in  his  Praise  are  laid  by  his  Friends  on  the 
Scale  of  the  Living,  which  they  often  blow  up 
by  empty  breath  and  idle  praise;  —  whilst  the 
Dead,  numbered  with  the  Dead,  with  that  pri- 
meval, silent,  inactive  Company,  are  dispatched 
with  the  words:  De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum  — 
(Say  nothing  but  good  of  the  Dead.)  More- 
over, if  he  has  become  old,  if  he  has  outlived 
the  Masters  of  his  time,  then  he  becomes  by  the 
Grace  of  God  a  Support  to  the  Arts  and  to 
those  who  understand  Art.  For  Age  is  even  in 
this  respect  a  wonderful  Gift  of  Grace.  Yea, 
the  most  wretched  Writer  of  Comedies  in  the 
time  of  Aristophanes,  has  only  to  appear  boldly 
among  us  now,  and  he  would  be  an  Oracle  of 
the  Age ;  if  he  were  only  to  sit  and  say  nothing 


140  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

but  the  Words:  That  is  fine!  that  is  bad!  yet 
from  Reverence  for  his  long  fabulous  silver 
Beard,  and  because  of  the  Miracle  of  his  Exist- 
ence, he  would  be  chosen  as  a  Judge,  and  his 
Wisdom  praised.  Albert  was  almost  ashamed 
to  live,  now  that  Raphael  was  dead.  Yet  he 
lived  in  his  Works.  — 

Now  Agnes  was  not  willing  to  let  him  go 
alone,  because  it  seemed  probable  to  her 
that  he  might  not  return  again.  But  he  felt 
bound  to  her  by  Gratitude ;  for  there  was  never 
an  Evening  or  a  Morning  in  which  he  forgot 
that  it  was  through  her  he  had  been  so  happy 
as  to  possess  a  Child  —  through  her  alone  that 
he  had  possessed  this  beloved  Child.  He  had 
only  to  think  of  the  little  Agnes,  and  it  was 
enough  for  his  Heart,  enough  to  make  him 
honour  his  Wife,  and  feel  drawn  towards  her. 

Otherwise  he  might  perhaps  long  ago 

but  there  was  no  such  otherwise. 

Agnes  and  Susanna  now  set  out  with  him. 
The  Honours  he  received  in  the  Towns 
through  which  they  passed  were  valued  by 
him,  only  because  they  gave  him  Value  in 
Agnes's  eyes  —  or  rather  Toleration.  That 
was  certainly  not  the  right  Feeling.  But  was 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  141 

it  doing  any  harm  to  the  World,  as  we  under- 
stand it  ?  Or  should  we  not  turn  its  Bless- 
ings to  the  best  account  for  ourselves?  There- 
fore he  gave  away  Pictures,  such  as  that  of  St. 
Anna  and  St.  Mary^  with  the  Infant  Christ,  to 
the  Bishop  of  Bamberg,  because  he  had  in- 
vited him  to  be  his  Guest,  and  had  paid  for 
him  at  the  Inn.  At  Antwerp  the  Painters  in- 
vited him  to  their  Rooms  with  his  Wife  and 
Susanna.  They  had  a  complete  service  of 
Plate,  other  costly  Ornaments,  and  an  extrava- 
gantly fine  Dinner.  Their  Wives  were  also 
there.  When  he  was  conducted  to  Table,  there 
was  a  Crowd  of  People  on  both  sides,  as  if 
he  had  been  a  Lord ;  and  among  them  were 
several  Persons  of  Eminence,  who  showed  their 
Respect  for  him  by  profound  Reverences.  Late 
in  the  night  they  all  accompanied  him  and 
his  Wife  home  with  Torches.  Agnes  could 
not  sufficiently  express  her  Amazement,  and 
became  quite  perplexed  and  meditative. 

Albert  received  a  sad  but  salutary  warning, 
when,  having  left  his  Wife  in  Antwerp,  and 
taken  shipping  on  the  coast,  with  the  inten- 
tion of  disembarking  again  at  Armyud,  he 
was  prevented  by  a  Tempest,  which  broke  the 


142  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

cable  and  drove  him  out  into  the  midst  of  the 
frightful  Billows  of  the  Sea.  During  the  Dan- 
ger he  became  conscious  that  his  Agnes  might, 
must,  and  would  one  Day  live  without  him ! 
This  Feeling  slumbered  in  his  Heart  from 
that  Day,  and  like  a  living  Being,  opened 
sometimes  an  Eye  and  looked  at  him,  or 
moved  within  him. 

He  now  went  from  Antwerp  to  Mechlin. 
Margaret,  the  Sister  of  Charles  V.*  wished  to 
see  his  Agnes.  She  said  she  would  rather 
die  than  allow  herself  to  be  rated  and  scruti- 
nized, Body  and  Soul,  by  the  haughty,  crafty 
Dame,  without  daring  to  utter  a  word  in  re- 
turn. But  it  was  no  use  of  kicking  and  strug- 
gling. She  adorned  herself  in  the  midst  of 
Tears. 

Margaret  however  received  the  still  beauti- 
ful Agnes,  who  had  put  on  her  most  amia- 
ble Countenance,  very  kindly.  She  desired 
her  to  sit  down,  and  brought  to  her  herself 
Wine  and  the  finest  Pastry.  You  are  our 

#  This  is  a  mistake  of  the  author.  Charles  V.  had  no  sister  of 
that  name.  Margaret,  daughter  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,  and 
aunt  of  Charles,  at  that  time  Governess  of  the  Netherlands,  must 
be  the  person  meant.  Diirer  himself  makes  the  same  mistake  in 
his  journal.  —  Translator. 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  143 

dear  Mistress  Agnes,  said  she  to  her,  for  you 
know  how  to  value  an  Artist,  so  as  to  benefit 
him  and  the  World.  An  Artist's  Marriage  is, 
it  is  true,  only  that  of  a  Man,  and  the  Wife 
is  the  Husband's  Help  and  Comfort,  whatever 
be  his  calling  or  station.  And  every  Husband 
stands  in  need  of  Encouragement,  of  Cheer- 
fulness, of  Peace  in  his  Home,  to  enable  him 
to  bear  what  Life  brings  with  it,  and  still  to 
preserve  the  power  of  working  for  the  benefit 
of  Mankind.  Cheerfulness  gives  the  highest 
Power  to  do,  and  to  endure,  my  beautiful 
Angel.  But  if  he  find  a  gloomy  Counte- 
nance at  Home,  where  formerly  his  smiling 
Wife  sat ;  if  he  hear  nothing,  or  a  Murmur, 
from  whence  formerly  sweet  Words  penetrated 
his  Heart ;  if  he  feel  better  and  happier  else- 
where than  in  his  own  Home,  then  Good-night 
to  Peace,  Good-night  to  Marriage.  When 
Husbands  remain  out  of  their  own  Houses 
as  often  as  possible  during  the  Day,  and 
as  long  as  possible  during  the  Evening,  seek- 
ing for  Happiness  elsewhere,  then  that  is  a 
sign  that  Marriage  is  good  for  nothing  to  the 
Man,  or  to  the  Wife,  or  to  both  together. 
For  had  one  of  them  been  only  properly  mild 


144  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

and  reasonable,  patient  and  firm  ;  and  the  other 
only  yielding  and  willing  to  receive  Instruc- 
tion ;  then  both  might  have  found  Happiness 
and  held  it  fast.  Friendship,  even  with  the 
Friends  of  our  Youth,  must  be  very  much  lim- 
ited in  Marriage  —  for  the  Wife  is  the  Hus- 
band's best  Friend.  And  to  every  one  his  own. 
Only  the  disappointed  have  recourse  to  their 
old  Friends  again.  But  your  Albert^  dear, 
beautiful  Agnes,  remains  kindly  at  Home,  as 
I  hear,  and  throws  no  false  colour  on  you,  but 
the  true  one  —  on  himself. 

Agnes  burned  to  speak,  and  if  her  Husband 
during  many  long  Years  had  learned  to  read 
every  one  of  her  Features,  she  would  then 
have  said:  Is  this  Mockery?  How!  are  the 
Great  then  like  Pulpit  Orators,  to  whom  no 
one  can  utter  one  word  in  reply,  but  may  only 
think  and  smile?  But  hereafter!  only  have 
Patience  !  Certainly  one  can  injure  another 
by  flattering  words,  so  that  he  can  say  noth- 
ing in  reply  —  but  he  who  is  fair  and  just,  so 
regulates  his  talk,  that  he  injures  the  Feelings 
of  none.  Thou  cunning  One! 

Margaret  then  took  Agnes' s  Hand,  pulled  off 
her  Glove,  looked  at  the  little  delicate  white 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  145 

Hand,  stroked  it,  and  held  her  own  near  it,  as 
if  she  were  measuring  the  Fingers.  She  then 
chose  from  a  little  Jewel-Box  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  many  Rings,  put  it  on  Agnes's 
Finger,  and  said  graciously :  Take  this  from 
me  as  a  token  of  the  Gratitude  of  all  your 
Husband's  Friends.  For  I  honour  and  love 
him  much  —  with  such  a  Love  as  can  make 
no  Woman  jealous,  not  even  you,  beautiful 
Agnes.  I  love  his  Mind  and  what  he  brings 
forth  from  it ;  you  love  himself,  you  alone 
possess  him,  his  Heart,  his  Feelings,  and  his 
earthly  Existence.  But  it  is  proper,  and  yet 
not  rightly  understood  among  Men,  that  the 
World  should  in  an  especial  manner  honour 
the  Wife  of  the  Artist !  For  she  is  the  Honour 
of  his  House.  If  she  is  not  happy,  then  his 
Happiness  is  —  Unhappiness.  She  is  united 
to  him  as  the  Elm  is  to  the  Vine ;  he  is  the 
sweet,  the  productive  part  to  the  World ;  but 
she  holds  and  supports  him,  so  that  he  brings 
forth  Grapes ;  and  without  her  —  he  sinks  to 
the  Ground. 

She  turned   away  for   a    Moment.      At  the 
sight  of  her   moist   Eyes,  Albert's   fell   to   the 
Ground.      Agnes   held    the    Glass   very   pictu- 
10 


146  HOW  ALBERT  BIDS 

resquely  to  her  purple  Lips,  and  appeared  to 
be  sipping  some  of  the  sparkling  Wine. 

Drink  not  so,  good  Agnes,  continued  Marga- 
ret. Drink  to  the  Health  of  your  own  Master : 
Long  Life  and  happy  Days ! 

And  Agnes  whispered,  looking  at  her  and 
not  at  him  :  Long  Life  and  happy  Days ! 

That  is  as  it  ought  to  be,  said  the  Princess. 
Now  your  Health  must  also  be  drunk  by  him 
and  by  me !  for  as  the  Artist  cannot  work,  if 
only  a  Cloud  —  nay,  even  the  Shadow  of  a 
Cloud  —  darken  his  Soul,  not  to  speak  of  a 
Sorrow  which  tears  his  Heart,  —  and  if  it  is 
only  by  the  great,  free,  superior  power  of  a  pure 
Nature  that  he  can  work,  but  withal  becomes 
therethrough  fully  abstracted  and  released  from 
worldly  things,  and  at  last  with  mild  Ardour 
reverences  the  Saints  still  more  than  he  feels 
an  ardent  desire  to  represent  them,  —  then  I 
drink  to  your  Health  !  We  have  to  thank  you 
for  the  great  number  of  the  Master's  Works ! 
You  fan  away  Care  from  him ;  he  is  free  from 
human  Wants  through  you.  For  what  little 
the  Artist  has  need  of  on  Earth,  and  yet  must 
continue  to  demand  from  it,  that  you  bestow 
upon  him  lovingly,  so  that  he  hardly  knows 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  147 

whence  it  has  come  to  him;  were  it  not  that 
he  recognises  your  quiet  beneficent  Angel's 
Hand  in  the  Gift,  by  the  calm  Peace  which 
reigns  around  him !  Thus  he  traces  nothing 
of  the  rough  World  —  but  your  love,  which 
like  a  mild  spring  Sunshine  makes  his  Heart 
large  and  his  Soul  great.  Therefore  it  is  your 
good  Fortune  to  share  the  enthusiastic  Joy 
which  carries  him  as  it  were  a  Step  farther  on 
the  Path  of  Life  —  as  if  Heavenly  Spirits  had 
ministered  to  his  Soul  —  when  he  beholds  an- 
other Work  completed  by  his  own  Hand.  But 
there  is  a  God  who  rewards  not  Pain  only :  no, 
dear  Agnes,  He  rewards  also  pure,  loving  Joy ! 
—  and  for  everything  that  you  do  and  are  to 
your  Husband,  God  will  reward  you.  Believe 
that  of  a  Surety. 

What  frightful  things  she  says !  Were  it 
indeed  so !  muttered  Agnes,  staring  before  her. 
Then  recovering  herself,  she  turned  to  Margaret, 
and  said :  Gracious  Lady !  I  understand  you ; 
but  you  do  not  understand  me ;  and  yet  you 
are  a  Woman.  So  be  it!  I  can  endure  this 
no  longer.  But  mark  well !  human  Judgment 
is  defective :  He  alone  can  judge  who  knows 
all  Hearts;  but  He  judges  not,  because  He 
knows  them,  and  because  He  formed  them. 


148  HOW  ALBERT  BIDS 

You  know,  said  Margaret,  turning  to  Albert, 
that  the  Emperor  said,  when  a  Nobleman  was 
not  willing  to  hold  the  Ladder  to  you  at  his 
command,  because  he  thought  his  Nobility 
would  thereby  be  sullied  —  that  you  were,  on 
account  of  the  excellency  of  your  Art,  great- 
er than  a  Nobleman,  because  he  could  make 
any  Peasant  a  Nobleman,  but  could  not  make 
a  Nobleman  an  Artist;  —  here  then  the  Em- 
peror presents  to  you  also  the  golden  Chain, 
the  Badge  and  Ornament  of  a  Knight.*  You 
are  this  day  invited  to  his  Table ;  you  are  also 
appointed  his  Court  Painter.  Therefore,  if  you 
feel  as  you  speak,  dear  Agnes,  you  will  rejoice 
in  the  Honours  of  your  Husband !  Your  Name 
will  live  with  his,  when  we,  whose  Appanage 
in  Life  has  been  high  Rank,  shall  appear  only 
as  Names  on  the  withered  genealogical  Tree, 
only  as  faded  Ink.  —  Now  go  in  peace. 

Agnes  hastened  away,  her  Face  much  flushed. 
Margaret  made  a  sign  to  Albert  to  come  back 

*  It  was  Maximilian  who  bestowed  letters  of  nobility,  and 
also  a  handsome  pension,  on  Diirer;  but  he  continued  after- 
wards to  experience  the  liberality  of  the  illustrious  Charles  V. 
and  his  brother  Ferdinand,  King  of  Hungary.  The  golden  chain 
is  of  course  the  same  that  is  mentioned  by  the  author  as  having 
been  laid  aside  by  Diirer  on  his  deathbed. —  Translator. 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  149 

again.  She  stood  a  little  while  mute  and  con- 
templative ;  she  then  said  to  him :  I  am  sorry 
for  the  poor  Child  nevertheless  —  she  is  but  a 
Woman  ;  and  I  cannot  conceal  from  you,  that 
/  should  not  like  to  have  such  a  perfect  Hus- 
band, who  lives  in  Heaven,  and  only  descends 
sometimes  graciously  to  dwell  with  us  on 
Earth;  and  who,  removed  beyond  the  reach 
of  Woman's  Judgment,  is  himself  just  so  much 
the  more  praised  and  honoured.  We  Women 
prefer  a  human  being  like  ourselves. 

Albert  made  an  obeisance.  Then  Margaret 
observed  the  Ring  in  the  bottom  of  the  Wine- 
glass, which  Agnes  had  just  set  down.  Take 
it,  she  said ;  —  I  give  it  now  a  second  time, 
and  in  a  very  different  sense,  to  your  Wife  — 
as  a  Woman. 

Agnes  was  not  to  be  seen.  She  lay  at  Home 
sick,  and  the  Apothecary  received  fourteen  Sti- 
vers, and  the  Monk  who  visited  her,  eight  Sti- 
vers. She  then  packed  up,  and  that  signified  to 
Albert  that  they  were  to  set  out  on  their  home- 
ward Journey  to  the  dear  familiar  Nwrnberg. 

She  there  buried  herself  in  Loneliness  and 
Fancies,  which  went  on  multiplying  within  her. 
The  words  of  Margaret  operated  very  power- 


150  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

fully  afterwards:  and  Agnes  also  murmured, 
because  the  Princess  had  considered  him  richly 
and  well  paid  by  these  Words  for  many  Works 
which  he  had  executed  for  her,  or  presented  to 
her.  He  had  also  presented  to  the  King  of 
Denmark^  who  was  in  Brussels,  some  of  the 
best  of  his  Engravings  —  out  of  respect.  For 
it  was  a  delight  to  him  to  give  pleasure  to  the 
World  by  his  Works,  and  he  lived  to  please 
every  one.  Only  he  should  not  give  Presents 
to  great  people,  thought  Agnes.  But  in  this 
he  certainly  did  not  agree.  The  Rich  must 
pay  for  the  Poor!  thought  she.  And  so  he 
was  often  obliged  to  bargain  with  a  poor  Pur- 
chaser of  his  Works  for  a  few  Florins  more  — 
instead  of  remitting  the  whole  !  But  —  Hanns 
Frei)  his  Father-in-law,  had  now  lain  for  two 
years  sick ;  his  Wife  died,  and  a  Sepulchre  was 
built  for  them  and  Albert  together ;  and  after 
the  lapse  of  nearly  two  years,  his  Father-in-law 
died  also.  Agnes's  Grief  was  thus  doubly 
deep;  for  her  Father  had  departed  this  Life 
in  the  midst  of  Reverses  of  Fortune  almost 
beyond  endurance,  and  her  Life  and  her  Striv- 
ings now  began  to  appear  to  her  as  a  vain 
thing.  She  had  a  House,  and  everything  in  it 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS    WIFE.  151 

that  was  needful  —  a  State-room,  fine  Clothes, 
a  prospect  for  the  future  that  could  not  fail  her, 
Honour  —  as  much  as  she  could  wish,  —  but 
all  too  late,  all  not  so  much  in  unison  as  her 
young  brain  had  settled  it ;  for  this,  in  her 
opinion,  was  what  every  human  being  should 
strive  after  as  the  chief  business  of  Life  !  Pos- 
session is  dead,  Striving  is  alive ;  and  therefore 
Striving  and  Longing  must  be  sufficient.  To 
attain,  is  to  pour  Oil  on  the  Sea  of  our  Wishes : 
to  attain  too  late,  is  pouring  Gall  instead  of  Oil. 
In  these  latter  days  Melancthon  had  come 
to  Number ff :  he  was  as  it  were  Luther's  Sec- 
retary of  State,  and  brought  everything  into 
a  world-enduring  valid  Form,  uniting  the  new 
Grafts  to  the  well-cropped  Trees  with  an  Ar- 
tist's Hand,  so  that  the  sap  of  the  old  Trunk 
might  produce  new  and  noble  Fruit.  Albert 
adhered  to  the  Old  Light  which  had  arisen 
again  in  the  New  Time.  He  was  accustomed 
to  think  as  an  Artist,  to  go  back  to  the  Source 
of  Things,  and  from  their  formation,  to  the 
Mind  which  formed  them  ;  accustomed,  when 
possible,  to  imprint  his  Thoughts  more  beau- 
tifully and  truly.  These  he  then  applied  to  the 
operations  of  the  Mind  of  Man,  and  soon  all 


152  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

was  Light  and  Purity  within.  Now  these 
men  had  excluded  marriage  from  the  Sacra- 
ments —  Albert  praised  the  new  Creed  in  gen- 
eral ;  and  thus  it  appeared  to  Agnes  that  he 
adhered  to  it  —  in  order  that  divorce  might  be 
open  to  him.  She  shuddered  at  the  sight  of 
Melancthon  wherever  she  met  him,  and  the  dif- 
ference of  their  Faith  at  last  estranged  Agnes 
and  Albert.  She  now  believed  that  they  would 
inhabit  different  Heavens,  that  they  had  been 
made  by  two  different  Gods,  and  as  her  Mind 
was  withdrawn  from  him,  so  was  also  her  Life 
—  and  Marriage  is  preeminently  a  Union  of 
Lives!  Oftentimes  she  lamented  that  he  would 
be  lost  in  Time  and  in  Eternity,  at  which  he 
smiled.*  But  when  he  wished  to  adduce 
Proofs  to  her,  then  she  said :  Get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan ! 

These  Words  stung  him  so  deeply,  after  all 

*  The  honest  evangelical  Painter  (for  such  alone  are  the  genuine, 
the  enduring,  whose  Works  never  become  Chimeras  of  the  Brain) 
certainly  acknowledged  the  sincerity  of  his  Wife,  who  would 
willingly  have  known  him  happy  here  and  hereafter;  and  he 
respected  the  uneasiness  she  had  endured  for  Years,  and  which 
he  had  endeavoured  to  dissipate  by  loving  Persuasion  and  by 
Reason;  but  Reason  finds  difficult  access  to  those  who  are  at 
enmity,  and  almost  more  difficult  still  to  those  who  love !  —  W.  P. 


'FAREWELL  TO  HIS  WIFE.  153 

the  Grief  he  had  endured,  and  all  the  kind 
intentions  of  his  Heart,  that  he  resolved  actu- 
ally to  go  away  from  her,  only  not  like  him 
to  whom  she  had  compared  him,  but  magnan- 
imously, yea  prodigally.  Love  likes  to  boast 
great  things,  likes  to  play  the  Queen,  to  ap- 
pear rich,  all- sacrificing,  divinely-joyful  —  and 
yet  weeps  quite  humanly.  And  this  justly. 
Love  is  sufficient  to  itself:  what  it  gives,  it 
receives  again  a  thousand-fold  as  if  from  God; 
what  it  must  do  without,  it  enjoys  a  thou- 
sand-fold, by  having  a  dreamy,  soulful,  sym- 
pathetic perception  of  the  Enjoyment  of  the 
beloved  object.  Rare  Power!  Miracle  of  Nature 
—  so  natural  to  him  who  bears  it  in  his  Heart ! 
The  World  is  worth  nothing  to  him  who  has 
this  Power;  but  he  who  has  it  not,  cannot 
attain  it  if  he  would  give  the  whole  World 
for  it  —  not  for  his  own  Existence ;  —  or  rather 
he  does  not  believe  that  he  could  purchase  it 
therewith,  because  he  dare  not  venture  to  throw 
his  Existence  away  for  such  unwonted  Gain. 
Yet  let  it  be  understood  :  Albert  left  everything 
to  his  beloved  Agnes;  he  counted  the  Gold  — 
there  were  six  thousand  Florins ;  he  looked 
over  the  Engravings,  the  Pictures  —  he  left 


154  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

them  to  her.  But  he  left  to  her  also,  a  more 
precious  than  all  —  namely  herself;  and,  in 
her,  his  Existence,  his  Mind,  his  Love,  which 
he  regarded  as  nothing,  just  because  she  re- 
garded them  as  nothing. 

This  Feeling  made  him  so  desponding,  that 
he  now  also  deemed  as  nothing  that  to  which 
he  had  devoted  his  Life,  and  executed  with 
so  much  love  —  his  Art  and  his  Works.  Nay 
he  even  wished  to  go  back  to  Hungary,  to  the 
little  Village  of  Eytas  from  whence  his  Grand- 
father, Anton  Durer,  had  wandered  to  Number g 
as  a  poor  Goldsmith;  —  there  he  would  no 
more  be  heard  of —  again  fostering  the  Vine, 
planting  Trees,  cutting  Branches,  gleaning 
Grapes,  as  his  Fathers,  very  worthy  people, 
had  done  —  also  without  a  Name  to  leave  be- 
hind. But  —  his  habit  of  Industry  did  not 
permit  him  this  even  in  his  waking  Dreams. 
Peace  was  all  he  now  desired  —  Peace  —  Peace 
for  his  last  best  Works,  which  he  had  carried 
about  with  him  through  Life  !  These  must  yet 
be  completed !  They  would  yet  bring  many 
gold  Pieces  to  Agnes !  For  it  never  entered 
his  thoughts  to  divorce  her;  —  she  would  be 
happy  when  he  was  not  with  her  —  that  he 


FAKEWELL   TO   HIS    WIFE.  155 

both  wished  and  thought.  For  even  if  the 
new  Doctrine  had  permitted  it,  still  he  was  so 
accustomed  to  his  old  Faith  that  he  perceived 
it  was  only  they  who  adopted  the  new  as  Chil- 
dren, who  would  one  day  put  it  into  Practice 
in  the  affairs  of  Life; — not  this  Generation. 
The  only  scriptural  Ground  for  Divorce  was 
also  awanting  to  him;  for  into  the  Subtleties 
contained  in  the  question  as  to  the  multifari- 
ous ways  in  which  Marriage  may  be  broken, 
his  Heart  did  not  enter,  although  they  had 
often  exercised  his  Thoughts. 

And  so  he  parted  for  a  time  from  his  Agnes. 

It  was  a  Saturday ;  the  day  on  which  he 
always  heretofore  gave  thanks  to  God  for  the 
often  wondrously  accomplished  week.  If  he 
was  not  moved  to  this  by  the  Current  of  the 
World,  then,  at  his  Evening  Prayer,  he  was 
certain  to  be  so.  This  reverential  feeling  on 
the  Saturday  arose  perhaps  secretly  from  the 
knowledge  that  it  was  the  true  ancient  Sunday. 
Therefore  he  chose  this  day  for  his  Departure ; 
for  he  certainly  meant  to  do  a  good  Deed.  He 
was  ready  dressed,  and  had  nothing  in  his 
pocket  but  a  few  Stivers  for  his  Journey. 
Agnes  yet  slept.  He  approached  her  Bed.  He 


156  HOW   ALBERT   BIDS 

admired  the  Wife,  who  might  have  made  him 
so  happy.  Ah!  and  she  herself  appeared  to 
be  so  miserable  with  him,  and  through  him, 
that  he  wept  for  the  first  time  almost  aloud. 
He  kissed  her  bare  Arm  which  was  lying  on 
the  Coverlet.  She  half  opened  her  Eyes. 

—  I  am  going !  whispered  he. 

God  be  with  you !  said  she  as  if  in  a  Dream. 

—  I  will  come   again !  said  he. 

But  say  that,  I  pray  thee,  to  one  of  thy 
Friends  also !  said  she. 

I  will !  said  he. 

So  then  he  took  his  departure.*  It  was  early 
Spring.  The  Morning  Sun  smiled  on  him  as 
he  left  the  House.  He  smiled  in  return,  when 
he  looked  at  the  double  Eagle  over  the  Gate. 
But  when  he  had  gone  through  the  Streets  in 
the  still  Morning,  and  had  got  out  as  far  as 
Master  Belaid? s  the  Wheel-maker,  who  dwelt 
near  the  Sonnenbade,  and  who  prepared  his 
wooden  Blocks  for  him  ;  and  when  the  Geese 
on  the  young  grass  hissed  at  him,  and  he  saw 
the  little  bright  yeUow  Goslings  feeding  in  the 
Morning  Dew,  then  he  leant  on  the  hedge  of 

*  Just  sixty  Years  after  this,  W.  Shakespeare  left  his  Wife  and 
Children.  —  /,  the  Editor. 


FAREWELL   TO   HIS   WIFE.  157 

the  little  Garden ;  and  when  by  degrees  he 
roused  himself  from  his  Reverie,  he  heard  from 
within  the  house  Master  Sebald  recounting  to 
his  Wife  and  Children  and  Comrades  at  break- 
fast a  new  Jest,  which  Master  Hanns  Sachs* 
had  circulated  among  the  people  for  the  first 
time  the  night  before.  The  Wife  and  Children 
laughed !  that  was  a  Dagger  to  his  Heart.  Ah  ! 
there  was  Joy  in  this  House,  as  well  as  in  that 
of  Master  Sachs!  He  took  Courage,  how- 
ever, entered  and  bespoke  new  Blocks  from 
Master  Sebald  to  be  ready  when  he  should  re- 
turn from  Flanders.  And  the  Husband  stood 
reverentially  before  him,  his  Cap  in  his  Hand; 
the  Wife  kept  her  bare  Arms  folded  in  her 
Apron,  out  of  respect  for  him ;  and  the  Chil- 
dren, as  if  almost  afraid  of  him,  stood  clinging 
to  her.  He  smiled  —  for  he  knew  better  !  The 
Geese  hissed  at  him  again  as  he  went  forth, 
but  he  smiled  —  for  he  knew  better ! 

As  the  young  Branches  of  the  Vine  with 
their  green  Tendrils  often  attain  no  object 
around  which  to  entwine  themselves,  and  so 
bend  back ;  thus  many  of  Alberts  feelings  had 
not  reached  Agnes :  as  however  in  Autumn 

#  A  shoemaker  and  poet  in  Nurriberg.  —  Translator. 


158  HOW  ALBERT  BIDS  FAREWELL  TO  HIS  WIFE. 

the  Vine-dresser  breaks  off  also  the  firmly  fixed 
and  now  dried  up  Tendrils  of  the  Branch,  so 
he  intended  to  tear  himself  loose.  His  separa- 
tion had  already  lasted  so  long!  But  it  was 
only  after  many  Years  and  with  Pain,  that 
his  Thoughts  and  Feelings  could  be  severed 
from  her.  For  that  which  appears  visibly  in 
the  World  as  a  Work,  or  as  a  Deed,  must  all 
—  long,  long  before  —  have  existed  and  been 
ripening;  and  what  in  like  manner  the  World 
sees  of  Undertakings  are  all  Fruits  which 
have  fallen  from  the  Tree  of  Life :  —  for  the 
rest,  the  World  perceives  nothing  but  Leaves, 
and  hears  the  rustling  thereof!  Things  bloom 
concealed  —  covered  over,  like  the  Fig,  with  its 
own  leaf.  Thus  the  Past  comes  to  maturity 
only  in  the  Present,  and  in  the  Present  is 
sown  the  Seed  of  the  Future.  We  often 
lose  our  Health  for  Years  on  account  of  a 
thousand  little  Errors;  we  die  in  consequence 
of  living.  Sickness  is  an  exertion  of  Nature 
to  heal  us,  to  restore  to  its  natural  Proportion 
all  that  has  been  endured  or  done  amiss,  and 
to  aUow  us  to  expiate  it  by  Suffering,  in  or- 
der that  we  may  become  wise  for  the  Years 
that  yet  remain  to  us. 


Peace  in  Life. 


purposed  extending  his 
Wanderings  so  far  as  to  secure 
himself,  and  his  poor  self-torturing 
Agnes,  against  a  sudden  Return,  the  desire 
for  -which  seized  him  every  evening.  He 
had  in  truth  no  longer  been  able  to  en- 
dure the  sight  of  her  self-torture  ;  for  what 
manly  Mind,  not  burdened  by  the  weight  of 
a  Crime  against  Heaven,  would  allow  itself 
seriously  to  be  bowed  down  by  a  Woman  ! 
Women,  indeed,  never  wish  so  to  bow  down 
a  Man  ;  only  they  do  not  always  understand 
how  to  limit  their  desires,  or  on  the  other 
hand  to  forget  them.  Alas  !  and  Life  de- 
mands so  much  from  us,  so  much  Endurance 
and  Sacrifice  !  The  worst  of  Life  is,  that  we 
all  live  on  this  Earth  for  the  first  time.  Every- 
thing is  new;  no  one  gets  accustomed  to  the 
perpetual  Surprises  —  at  best  only  accustomed 
to  be  surprised.  Even  the  old,  the  daily-re- 


160  PEACE    IN    LIFE. 

curring,  finds  us  every  day  new  and  changed 
in  Age,  in  Mind,  in  Likes  and  Dislikes,  so 
that  it  often  operates  more  strangely,  more 
peculiarly  than  the  new,  to  whose  impressions 
we  yet  hesitate  to  resign  ourselves.  And 
thus  to  know  how  to  live  requires  perpetual 
Genius  —  for  Life  is  the  highest  of  all  Arts. 
Only  no  one  believes  this,  because  he  fancies 
he  knows  how  to  live,  as  every  one  fancies 
he  knows  how  to  love,  when  he  looks  deep 
into  the  Eye  of  a  beautiful  Maiden.  Alas! 
Love  also  is  an  Art — but  it  consists  not  in 
Raptures  and  Enthusiasm  ;  it  is  not  to  wan- 
der in  the  Moonlight,  to  listen  to  the  Song  of 
the  Nightingale,  to  kneel  before  the  Beloved, 
to  languish  and  pine  for  her  Kiss !  No ;  this 
is  the  Art  of  Love  :  —  to  preserve  its  Fire,  its 
godly  Treasure ;  to  carry  about  its  Riches 
through  Life  as  if  in  pure  Gold ;  to  spend  it 
for  him  alone  to  whom  the  Heart  is  devoted ; 
to  be  always  ready  to  sympathize,  to  smile, 
to  weep,  to  assist,  to  counsel,  to  alleviate; 
in  short,  to  live  with  the  Beloved  as  he  lives, 
and  thus,  by  virtue  of  an  indwelling  Heavenly 
Power,  to  preserve  invariably  a  Heavenward 
direction.  And  this  Art  is  the  highest,  the 


PEACE    IN   LIFE.  161 

tenderest  Love.  He  who  possesses  it  knows 
what  Love  is.  The  greater  part  of  Men  can 
sacrifice  Hours  and  Days  and  Wealth  ;  but 
to  bear  and  to  suffer  patiently  for  Years,  never 
to  consider  one's  own  Life  and  Wellbeing,  to 
pine  away  gradually,  to  suffer  Death  in  the 
Heart,  and  yet  to  hasten  to  the  Arms  of  the 
Beloved  as  soon  as  they  are  again  opened  to 
us,  and  then  to  be  happy,  yea  blest,  as  if 
nothing  had  been  amiss,  as  if  no  time  had 
elapsed  between  that  moment  and  the  first 
embrace,  —  all  this  Love  can  do.  It  now  ap- 
peared to  Albert  that  he  and  Agnes  had  only 
been  fettered  by  some  inconceivable  Power. 
This  conviction  gave  him  Courage.  He  ar- 
rived at  it  now  for  the  first  time  —  alas !  al- 
most too  late  for  this  Life,  and  therefore  he 
wished  there  had  been  a  Life  for  Man  be- 
fore this,  in  order  that  he  might  again  live 
peacefully,  wisely,  and  happily ;  since  every- 
thing in  the  World  and  in  the  human  Heart 
springs  from  Love  —  and  no  Man  has  thus 
any  cause  truly  to  grieve.  For  a  noble  Heart 
cares  for  nothing  else  than  to  be  worthy  of 
the  Love  of  those  whom  he  loves  —  and  also 
worthy  in  general;  and  no  one  can  tell  him 
11 


162  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

this  so  well  as  his  own  Heart,  judging  even 
from  a  thousand  Actions.  Thus  Albert  saw 
that  even  he  ought  now  to  be  satisfied !  and 
concluding,  by  his  own  Feelings,  how  his  Ag- 
nes also  must  feel  in  her  Heart,  he  attained  to 
the  Knowledge,  that  everything  is  ordered  by 
Love,  and  that  we  must  improve  the  divinely- 
granted  Time,  by  bestowing  it  one  on  another. 
This  Albert  now  intended  honestly  to  do  tow- 
ards Agnes  !  * 

It  was  during  his  Wanderings  that  he  felt 
these  Convictions  in  all  their  force. 

He  went  to  visit  Lucas  of  Leyden.  Even 
the  Name  of  the  Town  attracted  him  thither.f 
During  his  first  sojourn  in  Holland,  he  had 
formed  an  intimate  Friendship  with  Lucas,  and 
now,  separated  from  his  Wife,  he  both  needed 
and  recognised  a  Friend.  And  he  found  one 
in  him.  Oh !  ever  kind  World  !  thou  hast 
Riches  ready  prepared  for  him  who  rejoices,  as 
well  as  for  him  who  mourns !  How  unhappy 

*  Thou  upright  Soul!  how  much  thou  hast  reflected,  and  how 
much  Cause  hast  thou  had  for  Reflection!  And  thou  wert  now 
repenting  instead  of  her !  And  Repentance  —  even  that  which  is 
felt  for  others  —  leads  to  Acknowledgment.  Thy  Kernel  remained 
sweet.  —  W.  P. 

f  Leiden  —  Suffering.  —  Translator. 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  163 

% 

soever  any  one  may  be,  Nature  is  always  true 
to  him  ! 

He  had  thought  it  would  be  with  him  as 
with  a  shipwrecked  Mariner,  who,  after  hav- 
ing been  long  tossed  about  on  the  cold  Waves 
till  he  is  benumbed,  finds  himself  at  last 
washed  ashore  on  the  flowery  Bank  of  a  lonely 
Island.  But  he  now  felt  as  if  he  had  been 
washed  by  the  Waves  from  the  Shore  out  into 
the  cold  Sea  !  Nothing  was  awanting  ;  ev- 
erything was  arranged  for  him  in  a  comfort- 
able and  friendly  manner.  Clean  Linen  lay 
every  Morning  spread  out  on  his  chair;  his 
Clothes  were  brushed  and  free  from  every 
Speck  of  Dust ;  he  rose,  and  went  to  sleep,, 
whenever  he  liked ;  he  looked  at  the  People 
out  of  the  Window  ;  he  went  wherever  he 
pleased.  Oppressive  Freedom  !  To  everything 
he  was  indifferent,  all  within  him  was  so  still 
and  so  monotonous!  What  was  there  here 
for  him  to  Love  ?  To  whom  had  he  here 
every  hour  something  to  forgive  ?  Who  was 
there  here  to  make  him  sorry  ?  He  felt  the 
sweet  Power  of  Custom  even  in  what  is  most 
bitter  !  He  felt  that  Words  are  nothing,  how- 
ever mild  and  reverential  they  may  sound, 


164  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

if  the  Soul  of  Love  does  not  glow  and  breathe 
upon  us  through  them.  And  in  Agnes' s  Words 
—  which  he  now  missed  in  his  solitary  condi- 
tion—  there  was  the  Soul  of  a  faithful  Love, 
which  was  never  weary  in  busying  itself  with 
him,  in  being  angry  at  herself  and  at  him, 
during  the  whole  course  of  an  irritable  Exist- 
ence !  Ah  !  it  was  impossible  for  an  indiffer- 
ent Heart  so  to  do  —  for  it  has  neither  the  Will 
nor  the  Power  to  injure!  And  he  loved  her 
— therefore  he  could  not  be  injured  by  her! 
And  thus  the  feeling  of  his  Love  to  her  was 
quite  enough  for  him,  and  Life  without  her 
difficult,  much  more  difficult  to  bear !  Ah !  we 
love  perhaps  a  lively  Child,  and  think  it  im- 
possible that  our  Love  for  it  can  increase !  But 
it  becomes  sick  —  and  we  then  know,  for  the 
first  time,  how  much  more  intensely  and  also 
painfully  we  can  love  it!  Then  do  new  and 
more  delicate  Tendrils  unfold  themselves  as 
it  were  in  our  Hearts,  with  which  we  encom- 
pass it  as  Ivy  does  a  half- fallen  Statue.  And 
if  Agnes' ]s  Love  for  him  was  of  the  most  ex- 
traordinary kind,  still  she  loved  him  for  all 
that !  That  was  the  chief  point.  Her  Love 
was  like  the  warm  Sunbeam,  shining  in  the 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  165 

Window  of  a  Dome  through  a  fiery-red  Ruby 
Glass,  which,  corroded  by  damp,  reflects  with 
its  own  also  the  varied  hues  of  the  Rainbow. 
And  —  Caprice  is  never  without  a  Cause,  and 
may  riot  that  Cause  be  Disease  ?  And  does 
not  Disease  call  for  Pity  ?  Alas !  this,  then, 
was  what  he  could  no  longer  endure  ?  And 
was  that  just?  It  is  the  greatest,  the  most 
injurious  Wrong,  not  to  believe  in  Nature. 

Here,  far  away  from  her,  he  had  intended 
to  work  —  at  so  many  things,  and  so  busily! 
But  his  Thoughts  were  far  away  with  her  — 
banished  to  her !  Yet  when  he  was  with  her, 
when  she  was  wandering  around  him,  then 
they  could  rove  in  the  distance,  could  dwell 
where  Thoughts  and  Images  appear  as  in  a 
Heavenly  Dome  full  of  Music  and  Incense, 
from  which  the  Artist  steals  them  as  it  were 
for  the  Earth.  Here,  dwelling  in  Leyden,  his 
Sadness  increased ;  he  felt  he  could  not  be  so 
happy  anywhere  as  near  his  Wife  ;  yea,  that 
it  was  only  when  he  was  with  her  that  he  was 
truly  happy.  There  are  Conditions  in  which 
the  Endurable,  the  Imperfect,  is  the  best  possi- 
ble for  us  ;  and  the  Human  Race  is  continual- 
ly subjected  to  such  a  Condition.  Do  we  de- 


166  PEACE   IN  LIFE. 

sire  a  better  or  happier  Fate  ?  God  forbid ! 
Everything  that  is  ours  is  the  best  for  us ;  for 
we  choose  perhaps  our  own  Lot ;  but  what  we 
have  chosen  keeps  us  enclosed  as  in  Walls  of 
Steel  all  our  lives  —  and  for  as  much  better 
as  the  Untried  appears  to  us,  still  we  can 
never  attain  to  it,  nor  yet  appropriate  it,  be- 
cause we  ourselves  are  already  become  Prop- 
erty. Let  us  therefore  endure !  let  us  be  faith- 
ful! 

He  was  now  in  a  condition  to  perceive 
wherein  he  also  had  erred !  And  Man  never 
attains  Tranquillity,  as  long  as  he  believes  that 
he  is  right  in  all  his  Thoughts  and  Actions 
towards  all  the  World !  But  as  soon  as  he 
begins  to  doubt,  as  soon  as  he  once  admits 
the  pre-supposition  that  he  may  have  gone 
astray  —  that  he  must  take  himself  to  task 
—  then  come  Reconciliation  with  the  World, 
Contentment  and  Peace,  and  with  recognition 
of  the  Truth,  and  acknowledgment  of  his  own 
Error,  come  also  at  last  by  degrees  Satisfac- 
tion and  Happiness  to  his  Heart,  which  always 
speaks  Truth  to  the  Upright. 

Lucas  celebrated  Alberts  Birth-day,  the  day 
of  St.  PrudentiuS)  which  his  Agnes  had  so 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  167 

often  taunted  him  with  when  he  spoke  pru- 
dently.* Masters  assembled  from  all  quarters, 
but  from  tender  consideration  for  him  they  had 
left  their  Wives  at  home.  —  Bitter ! 

It  is  always  most  agreeable  for  us  Men, 
said  Master  Peter  Gutschaaf,  the  Illuminist, 
when  we  are  quite  among  ourselves,  and  also 
for  the  Women  when  they  are  quite  among 
themselves  !  We  are  certainly  of  two  differ- 
ent Natures,  and  in  this  way  each  has  undis- 
turbed and  pleasant  intercourse  with  those  of 
his  own  Nature.  These  words  furnished  Mate- 
rials for  a  Conversation  at  Table  on  Women, 
which  was  conducted,  however,  with  cautious 
consideration. 

Lucas  had  ordered  two  Bottles  of  lachrymce 
Christi  in  honour  of  Albert.  These  he  did 
not  disdain  to  taste,  and  he  had  his  own 
wonderful  Thoughts  thereby.  For  these  Tears 
cleared  away  the  clouds  from  his  Eyes! — they 
placed  him  in  Spirit  in  times  long  bypast. 
He  thought  on  the  happy  days  that  were 

#  The  6th  of  April.  St.  Prudentius  was  by  birth  a  Spaniard, 
and  fled  from  the  swords  of  the  infidels  into  France,  where  in 
840  or  845  he  was  chosen  Bishop  of  Troyes.  He  was  one  of  the 
most  learned  prelates  of  the  Galilean  Church.  His  writings  are 
extant  in  the  "Bibliotheca  Patrum."  —  Translator. 


168  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

gone,  —  and  behold!  there  sat  his  Wife,  weep- 
ing in  Nurnberg",  weeping  on  his  account, 
weeping  for  him !  Then  he  flew  swift  as  an 
Eagle  back  to  his  own  Days,  to.  the  Present, — 
and  there  he  was  in  Leyden,  sitting  at  Table 
opposite  Master  Peter  Gutschaaf^  whose  rosy 
Daughter  sat  beside  him,  always  hanging  ten- 
derly on  the  Eye  of  her  Father.  He  saw  in 
her  his  little  Daughter  Agnes  now  grown  up, 
and  he  sighed,  and  the  Daughter,  the  good 
little  Lamb,  looked  at  him  and  sighed  also. 
For  he  knew  well  how  much  Peter  Gutschaaf 
had  had  to  endure  at  Home  from  his  Wife, — 
and  yet  Gutschaaf  was  so  very  cheerful!  — 
that  was  his  Daughter's  doing.  She  was  like 
the  Oil  between  the  Door  and  the  Hinge,  the 
mild  L  between  harsh-sounding  Consonants  ! 
She  did  not  intend  to  marry,  because  she 
thought  it  her  duty  first  of  all  to  show  her 
Love  and  Gratitude  towards  her  Father,  be- 
fore she  loved  any  one  else ;  and  her  Father 
assented  to  this.  Albert  pictured  to  himself  his 
Agnes  just  as  tall  and  as  beautiful,  and  that 
she  would  have  been  as  kind,  and  that  her 
Father  would  have  been  as  fond  of  her.  Ah ! 
—  and  then  he  called  Death  the  bitterest 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  169 

Grief,  and  his  Tears  ran  into  the  Glass 
among  the  Tears  of  Christ  —  and  he  could 
not  drink. 

Drink,  I  pray  thee,  dear  Master !  said  sly 
Master  Dietrich,  the  Glass  Painter  ;  drink  ! 
The  Wine  which  the  Man  drinks,  restrains 
the  Wife  ;  and  the  Wine  which  the  Wife 
drinks,  dishonours  the  Man.  Just  listen  for 
a  moment  to  what  is  going  on  across  the 
street !  There  dwells  a  Straw  Widow,  so 
called  because  her  Husband  has  forsaken  her ; 
and  who,  in  other  respects,  of  a  Christian  and 
harmless  disposition,  wilfully  draws  upon  her- 
self many  suspicions,  in  order  to  retaliate  on 
him  ;  and  is  just  now  celebrating  a  jovial 
Banquet.  I  venture  to  say,  that  when  he 
comes  home  she  will  make  herself  out  to  be 
in  the  right ! 

Oh !  said  Bernard  of  Orley,  the  Princess 
Margaret's  Painter,  Women  may  be  in  the 
Wrong  so  prettily  and  sweetly,  that  one  is 
doubly  fond  of  them  in  spite  of  it  —  and  they 
may  be  in  the  Right  in  such  a  bitter  manner, 
that  one  curses  even  the  sacred  Truth  and 
them  at  the  same  time. 

Dear   Children,  interrupted   Master   Erasmus 


170  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

Desiderius  of  Rotterdam,  one  of  the  Guests, 
who  was  on  his  journey  to  Basle,  I  must  read 
you  a  Lecture  after  a  fashion  of  my  own, 
and  shew  you  how  foolish  you  are.  Men  think 
all  their  troubles  come  from  Women,  because 
it  is  through  them  without  doubt  that  they 
attack  them !  We  must  remember  that  there 
are  a  thousand  disagreeables  in  Life  ;  and  if 
we  have  Wives,  then  of  course  all  sorts  of 
Cares  must  be  encountered  in  Marriage ;  and 
every  one  must  receive  a  tinge  from  it,  as 
white  Wine  becomes  red  in  a  red  cask.  We 
are  apt  not  to  observe  this  sufficiently.  A 
Wife  cannot  do  us  any  harm,  and  as  certainly 
as  they  are  dear  Creatures  —  so  true  is  it  that 
they  will  do  us  none.  Yet  there  must  be 
Cares !  —  And  then,  declaiming  as  if  he  had 
been  still  a  Lecturer*  in  Oxford,  he  supported 
his  position  by  the  following  Verses  : 

Care  dost  thou  despise?  It  is  the  secret 
Confidential  Link  'tween  us  and  Nature  ; 
Confirmed  by  it  the  holy  Union  is. 

*  The  renowned  Erasmus  of  Rotterdam  spent  some  time  both 
at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  in  which  latter  University  he  gave  lec- 
tures on  Greek  literature,  and  held  the  Margaret  professorship  of 
Divinity,  procured  for  him  by  Bishop  Fisher.  He  was  the  friend 
of  the  illustrious  More.  —  Translator. 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  171 

The  Husband  Care  endureth  for  his  Wife, 

She  in  her  turn  for  him:  th'  anxious  Mother 

For  her  Child  —  the  Child  for  her  again. 

Each  mortal  Man  hath  care.    The  poor,  that  he 

His  frugal  morsel  may  obtain:  the  Rich, 

To  keep  the  Wealth  he  has.    For  Nature 

Hath  the  Heavenly  Father  endless  Care; 

For  Rich  and  Poor,  and  Nature's  Cares  besides. 

Care  is  Love  to  the  Earth !     He  who  without  it  lives, 

Ah!   knows  he  aught  of  Life?  knows  and  feels  he  thee, 

Thou  ever  sacred,  ever  bounteous  Nature? 

Master  Dietrich  did  not  wish  to  make  any 
subtle  distinction  between  Care  and  Sorrow, 
and  all  relating  thereto,  but  Master  Deside- 
rius,  whose  Symbol  was  "  nemini  cedo"  (I 
yield  to  no  one),  refuted  him  by  saying : 
There  is  Care  in  loving,  Care  in  being  be- 
loved, in  living  and  in  acting;  there  is  noth- 
ing but  Care  among  reasonable  beings ;  and 
because  God  has  intended  it  so  to  be,  I  sup- 
pose there  must  be  unreasonable  beings  —  I 
know  not  where  or  from  whence,  but  some- 
where in  the  World,  at  Brussels  or  at  Leyden, 
wherever  they  may  now  be  sitting !  With 
reasonable  people  nothing  leads  to  Sorrow 
and  Unhappiness ;  for  the  opposing  Power  of 
a  courageous  Mind  scarcely  allows  Care  to 
spring  from  the  knowledge  and  experience  of 


172  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

the  World.  Look  now  at  our  dear  cheerful 
Peter  Gutschaaf!  He  does  credit,  yea  even 
honour  to  his  Name !  *  He  has  only  Care, 
and  not  even  that ;  for  what  he  has  at  any 
time  to  experience  of  Life,  to  which  the  Wife 
belongs  above  all  things,  comes  to  him  through 
the  dear  voice  of  his  Daughter,  and  penetrates 
to  his  Heart  warmly  and  refreshingly !  This 
is  as  it  ought  to  be,  and  so  may  it  always 
continue,  dear  Peter  Gutschaaf;  you  are  a 
true  Man ! 

He  held  out  his  Hand  across  the  Table  to 
Master  Gutschaaf)  and  his  Daughter  also  laid 
her  little  Hand  therein,  which  seemed  to  have 
an  agreeable  effect  on  the  suffering,  self-deny- 
ing, unmarried  old  Man,  for  he  held  her  Hand 
a  long  time,  and  seemed  lost  in  Thought. 

But  he  could  not  resist  playing  the  Wag 
once  again. 

For  Master  Gutschaaf^  moved  by  the  touch- 
ing scene,  poured  out  the  whole  of  his  sad 
Heart  in  these  Words  :  Yes,  I  cannot  help 
saying  that  he  alone  can  be  happy  who  has  a 
Wife  and  Children  !  Others  cannot  so  much 

*  Gutschaaf —  good  or  patient  sheep.  —  Translator. 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  173 

as  be  unhappy  —  not  at  least  in  a  real,  hu- 
man, heart-rending  manner ! 

I  certainly  know  nothing  about  such  Un- 
happiness,  said  Master  Desiderius.  As  for  me, 
I  commend  all  Wives ! 

And  Bernard  of  Orley  whispered  audibly 
in  the  ear  of  Master  Dietrich :  —  Because  his 
Mother  was  none ! 

To  this  Desiderius  rejoined  :  My  Father 
never  married,  and  you  know  from  the  Scrip- 
tures that  in  Heaven  they  neither  marry  nor 
are  given  in  Marriage.  Now  I  put  it  to  you 
all,  my  dear  Sirs  and  Masters,  who  ought  to 
know  best,  whether  it  is  not  just  on  this  ac- 
count that  it  is  called  Heaven  ? 

You  know  how  to  make  for  yourself  a 
Heaven  upon  Earth !  said  Dietrich. 

And  you  in  like  manner  a  Hell  !  rejoined 
Desiderius. 

Master  Gutschaaf  laughed  till  the  Tears  ran 
down  his  old  pale  cheeks. 

Dost  thou  not  think,  my  little  Susan,  said 
he,  that  it  would  have  been  a  very  bad  affair 
for  thee  if  I  had  not  married  ? 

Very  bad !  said  she,  assenting,  and  smiled 
abstractedly.  , 


174  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

And  still  worse  for  me !    said   Gutschaaf. 

Still  worse !    said  the  dear  Child. 

But  now  all  is  well !    said  he. 

Oh !    so  well !   replied  she  softly. 

And  the  old   Man  wept  for  Joy. 

Long  life  to  you,  Master  Gutschaaf! — to 
you,  and  all  your  Relations,  near  and  distant. 

The  whole  Family  of  Gutschaaf,  long  may 
they  live !  exclaimed  Desiderius. 

Long  may  they  live !    exclaimed  all. 

Albert  had  poured  out  a  Glass  of  lachrymce 
Christi  for  every  one  to  drink  this  Toast. 
But  his  Neighbour  Master  Desiderius  strangely 
but  smilingly  refused  these  Tears,  saying  at 
the  same  time  :  I  have  no  Wife,  good  Mas- 
ter Albert.  Rhine-wine  is  to  me  —  the  only 
Wine! 

The  edge  was  taken  from  the  severe  Words 
of  Desiderius,  so  that  they  cut  not  the  Heart  of 
Albert,  by  the  conduct  of  the  good  little  Lamb, 
who  drank  to  her  Father's  health  along  with  the 
others  —  and  whispered  across  the  table  to  Al- 
bert :  I  drink  to  my  Mother  also !  He  then  with 
Tears  in  his  Eyes  drank  to  the  health  of  the 
Mother  of  his  Daughter. 

The  company  then  broke  up,  and  the  good 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  175 

Masters  departed,  according  as  each  was  pressed 
by  domestic  disquietude,  at  nine,  ten,  or  eleven 
o'clock.  Peter  Gutschaaf  remained  the  longest. 
Such  an  Honour  had  never  before  been  conferred 
on  him,  who  was  a  mere  Illuminist.  His  little 
Daughter  wrapped  him  in  his  fur  Great-coat, 
observed  a  Wine-stain  on  his  Lace-collar,  patted 
him  on  the  Cheek,  kissed  him  and  said  very 
softly:  Do  not  allow  the  Stain  to  spoil  your 
Pleasure !  To-morrow  morning,  before  my 
Mother  is  up,  it  will  be  all  washed  out  and 
plaited  up  again.  Thereupon  she  lighted  the 
Lantern,  took  leave,  pressed  Alberts  Hand,  who 
with  irresistible  Sadness  drew  the  dear  Child 
towards  him,  took  her  in  his  arms,  pressed  her 
to  his  Heart,  and  kissed  her  on  the  Forehead. 
Her  Father  thanked  him  for  the  great  Honour. 
Albert  went  sorrowfully  to  his  Chamber.  He 
threw  himself  on  his  Bed  without  undressing; 
the  Lamp  burned  dimly,  while  he  lay  looking 
before  him,  his  Fancy  floating  in  half-waking 
Dreams.  A  Gust  of  the  damp  dewy  Wind 
then  struck  upon  the  Window  ;  he  felt  much 
oppressed  ;  and  although  he  had  not  seen  the 
Door  open,  yet  there  stood  his  Wife  before  him 
in  the  middle  of  the  Room ! 


176  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

Agnes!  art  thou  here?  exclaimed  he,  filled 
with  astonishment.  He  gazed  at  her.  She  was 
so  young,  so  fresh  ;  only  pale,  quite  different 
from  Mortals!  The  boundaries  of  human  Ex- 
istence disappeared  before  him  —  he  thought 
the  form  was  that  of  his  Daughter,  whom  the 
Earth  so  long  before  had  snatched  away  from 
him,  now  so  perfect  and  so  gloriously  grown 
up  in  the  Gardens  of  Paradise !  And  why 
should  it  not  be  so  ?  But  how  was  she  then 
here?  Yet  she  was  there !  That  was  the  most 
blessed  moment  of  his  Life !  —  his  Heart  over- 
flowed with  Rapture!  He  listened,  expecting 
she  would  speak  to  him  —  would  supplicate 
him  to  return  to  her  Mother!  For  it  was  for 
this  she  appeared  to  be  come  !  —  But  ah !  it 
was  not  his  Daughter,  for  she  would  have 
smiled  on  him;  and  this  Agnes  looked  angrily 
at  him !  gloomily  and  reproachfully  !  And  yet 
big  Tears  stood  in  her  Eyes.  She  seemed  to 
wish  to  approach  him,  she  spread  out  her  arms 
longingly  towards  him,  but  when  he  hastened 
to  meet  her,  she  pushed  him  away  from  her  and 
fled.  He  wished  to  detain  her,  and  caught  her 
long  flowing  Hair  in  his  hand ;  he  held  her  fast ; 
she  bent  back  her  Head  yieldingly,  as  if  to  save 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  177 

herself  from  Pain.  It  then  occurred  to  him  that 
he  might  be  dreaming;  at  the  same  time  she 
uttered  a  loud  Cry ;  he  let  go  his  hold,  and  his 
Wife  had  disappeared ;  the  room  was  in  dark- 
ness; there  was  scarcely  Starlight  to  be  seen 
without,  and  the  damp  Wind  swept  past  the 
Windows. 

He  now  perceived  how  deeply  his  Wife  lived 
in  his  Soul.  It  did  him  good  to  conclude  from 
this  Vision  that  his  Agnes  perhaps  felt  an  in- 
ward longing  for  him !  He  hesitated  now  daily 
between  staying  and  going.  He  waited  how- 
ever the  answer  to  a  Letter  he  had  written  to 
Pirkheimer^  in  which  he  had  recounted  the 
above  occurrence. 

The  Answer  arrived.  Pirkheimer  wrote  that 
Agnes  expected  him  of  herself  on  St.  John's 
Day;*  only  she  was  very  angry  that  he  had 
held  her  so  fast,  and  showed  him  some  loose 
Hair,  which  she  had  probably  torn  out  herself 
that  Night  in  her  anguish.f  Moreover  Clara 

*  The  24th  of  June,  the  day  of  the  Nativity  of  St.  John  the  Bap- 
tist. It  is  also  called  Midsummer  Day.  —  Translator. 

t  I  do  not  recollect  whether  I  had  not  previously  recounted  to  her 
something  of  what  Albert  had  written  about  the  way  in  which  he 
had  held  her  in  his  Dream.  I  was  very  angry  when  I  reproached 
12 


178  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

had  returned  Home,  the  Convent  having  been 
shut  up  ;  Agnes  had  renewed  her  youthful 
Friendship  with  her,  and  seemed  relieved  by 
speaking  to  her  of  Albert.  As  a  Motto  to  the 
Letter,  were  these  words  of  St.  Chrysostom :  "  It 
is  easier  to  rule  a  Nation,  than  a  Soul." 

Having  now  come  to  the  resolution  of  return- 
ing Home  and  living  out  the  Life  appointed 
him  by  God,  Albert  was  a  new  Man.  He  also 
thought,  especially  now,  that  he  had  committed 
no  Injustice  by  his  Separation.  The  little  word 
"  and  "  was  his  Comfort :  —  He  who  separates 
from  his  Wife,  and  marries  another,  he  alone 
does  wrong.  There  is  no  one  who  leaves  House, 
or  Parents,  or  Brothers,  or  Wife,  or  Children,  for 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven's  sake,  who  does  not 
receive  fourfold  again  in  this  Life,  and  in  the 
World  to  come  Life  everlasting.  But  the  King- 
dom of  God  and  his  Righteousness,  said  he  in 
parting  from  her,  is  peace  and  joy.  And  Peace 
he  wished  to  leave  with  her,  without  thinking  of 
Joy  for  himself.  But  that  was  now  impossible. 
He  scarcely  stopped  to  refresh  himself  on.  the 
long  Journey  home  to  Agnes,  for  he  could  not 

her  with  her  conduct,  and  had  in  consequence  an  attack  of  my  old 
enemy  the  Gout.  —  W.  P. 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  179 

overcome  his  Heart's  Sickness,  like  one  who 
forgets,  plays,  or  sleeps  away  his  childish  Ill- 
nesses. 

It  was,  then,  on  the  Evening  of  St.  John's 
Day  that  Albert  arrived  at  the  fruitful  Fields 
near  N'drnberg.  The  setting  Sun  shone  upon 
the  Citadel  and  Towers  of  the  City  so  warmly, 
so  familiarly !  Ah  !  there  is  only  one  beautiful 
Sun  for  every  one,  and  it  is  that  which  rises 
and  sets  on  his  native  City !  In  other  lands  it 
is  only  a  cold  Mock-sun,  a  wandering  Star,  the 
delusive  Vision  of  the  Home-Sun,  which  follows 
us  like  a  Ghost. 

Albert  intended  to  wait  for  the  Twilight.  His 
Thoughts  swarmed  forth,  like  Bees  out  of  a 
Hive,  when  borne  home  from  a  strange  Pastu- 
rage ;  they  hovered  around  Flowers,  blooming 
Linden- Trees,  and  golden  Clouds,  and  his  Soul 
began  to  muse,  as  in  the  first  bright  season  of 
Youth.  He  ascended  a  Hill  close  by,  fqom 
which  he  had  a  View  of  the  Road.  The  Lin- 
dens towered  aloft ;  the  well-known  Stone-bench 
was  concealed  by  the  waving  Corn,  in  which  the 
note  of  the  Quail  was  heard.  He  now  ad- 
vanced. His  Heart  beat ;  he  saw  two  Females 
sitting,  one  leaning  to  the  right  and  the  other  to 


180  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

the  left.  He  approached  softly  —  they  slept! 
The  one  in  the  golden  Hood  and  the  blue  Dress 
was  —  his  Agnes  !  The  other,  in  the  simple 
white  Dress  and  Veil,  on  which  shone  the  rosy 
lustre  of  the  setting  Sun  —  was  Clara  ! 

Both  had  come  out  to  meet  him.  Agnes 
wished  perhaps,  by  the  presence  of  the  other, 
to  moderate  Alberts  Tears,  or  her  own  Words, 
and  to  show  him  at  the  same  time  that  she 
was  reconciled,  that  she  was  tolerant,  that  she 
would  endure  and  love,  what  he  did  not  hate ! 

He  stood,  and  gazed  upon  them  both  in 
silence.  What  a  Sight !  —  what  Thoughts  ! 

They  did  not  awake,  nor  did  he  wish  to  wake 
them.  He  sat  down  at  last  between  them, 
looked  and  mused,  and,  wearied  as  he  was,  he 
also  fell  into  a  Slumber. 

When  he  awoke,  he  perceived  that  his  Head 
was  resting  gently  on  Clards  Shoulder  —  for 
the  golden  Hood  to  the  left  was  gone.  Agnes 
had  waked  first ;  she  had  seen  him  then  in  that 
position,  in  which  he  had  found  himself,  resting 

—  on  her  Friend,  not  on  her —  she  had  thought 

—  Ah !    she  was  gone !      The  saffron  haze  of 
Evening  was  now  broad  and  faint  on  the  Hori- 
zon ;  therefore  she  must  have  been  long  gone. 
Poor  Soul !  said  he  aloud ! 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  181 

Clara  awoke.  Poor  Soul?  asked  she,  rising; 
was  it  not  Alberts  voice  that  spoke  thus  ?  —  He 
took  her  Hand.  She  missed  Agnes,  then  held 
her  Hand  before  her  Eyes,  and  again  leaning 
back,  said  for  the  second  time  with  a  low  voice : 
Poor  Soul!  And  yet  this  also  is  a  holy  Even- 
ing, for  here  is  an  Angel !  thought  he,  looking 
up  thankfully  towards  Heaven.  Albert's  House 
was  closed.  They  now  went  silently  wandering 
side  by  side  towards  the  City.  Clara  did  not 
raise  her  Eyes.  He  accompanied  her  home  to 
Pirkheimer's  House ;  the  door  was  opened,  and 
she  entered  in  silence.  For  the  poor  Soul  could 
not  say  Good-night  to  him  now;  the  words 
died  upon  her  lips.  But  the  old  sad  Smile  was 
again  seen  upon  his  Countenance. 

He  then  returned  to  his  own  House,  and 
looked  for  a  time  at  some  Children,  who  were 
catching  Glow-worms.  The  door  then  opened. 
Susanna,  who  did  not  observe  him  sitting  on  the 
seat,  went  past  to  draw  water.  He  then  stole 
away  to  his  own  room,  and  went  quietly  to  bed 
with  an  Evening  Hymn  on  his  lips. 

Art  thou  still  asleep  ?  said  Agnes  to  him  in 
the  Morning  on  entering.  She  sat  down  near 
him  on  the  bed,  and  held  his  hand,  Indifference 


182  PEACE  IN   LIFE. 

on  her  Features,  but  he  felt  that  in  reality 
her  Agitation  was  extreme.  Breakfast  is  ready, 
she  then  said  to  him,  with  a  faint  smile.  She 
contemplated  her  pale,  emaciated  Husband  — 
then  was  heard  the  sound  of  the  Death-worm 
picking  in  the  wood  of  the  bed;  she  became 
deadly  pale,  put  her  hand  on  her  Heart,  and 
scarcely  breathed  —  the  Worm  went  on  picking. 
She  then  gravely  arose,  and  went  from  him  with 
an  averted  Countenance. 

He  now  sat  by  her,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. Everything  was  as  of  old,  Mind  and 
Heart,  Joy  and  Sorrow.  Only  she  had  become 
more  silent,  as  if  speaking  had  formerly  annoyed 
him.  It  certainly  was  a  distinguishing  feature 
in  her  Character,  that  she  said  everything  that 
others,  more  considerate,  think,  but  do  not  ex- 
press :  for  Woman  is  Woman. 

But  he  saw,  notwithstanding  —  that  she 
wished  to  improve,  and  that  was  a  satisfac- 
tion to  him.  She  had  taken  Susanna's  Daugh- 
ter, who  was  now  grown  up  into  the  House, 
and  they  all  again  ate  at  the  same  Table.  She 
now  begged  his  Friends  to  come  often,  very 
often  to  see  him !  In  doing  so,  she  cast  her 
Eyes  on  the  ground,  and  kept  turning  round 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  183 

the  golden  Wedding  Ring.  She  exchanged 
with  him  the  Bed  that  had  the  Messenger  of 
Death  in  it,  and  now  slept  therein  herself.  All 
this  was  much!  But  Habit  was  more!  She 
still  took  everything  her  Husband  said  to  her 
as  a  Command,  and  though  within  her  rebel- 
lious Heart  there  was  a  powerful  struggle,  still 
for  all  that,  it  was  quietly  done  after  the  lapse 
of  some  days.  It  is  true  that  Agnes  had  rated 
herself  very  highly ;  but  who  can  blame  a  fallible 
being  for  this  ?  For  he  is  to  be  despised  who, 
as  a  human  Creature,  does  not  consider  himself 
as  worthy  of  Estimation  as  any  one  in  the 
World.  Her  Beauty  had  heightened  still  more 
this  estimate  of  herself — and  yet  Agnes  had 
not  rated  her  own  value  highly  enough !  and 
the  injured  Dignity  of  Love  had  never  allowed 
her  clearly  to  perceive  how  much  Happiness 
she  might  have  imparted.  She  passed  her  Life 
under  a  continual  sense  of  Injury,  while  the 
recognition  of  her  Husband's  Worth  and  Love 
might  perhaps  have  extorted  from  her  —  first 
Obedience,  and  then  Reverence. 

But  her  Thoughts  were  penetrated  by  one 
who  had  penetrated  and  turned  those  of  many 
others  besides,  and  animated  them  to  newness 


184  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

of  Life  by  the  clearness  and  vigour  of  his  In- 
tellect. This  was  Melancthon.  He  came  to 
Ntirnberg  in  the  following  May,  to  preside  at 
the  opening  of  the  Gymnasium  of  St.  Egidius. 
The  Silver  Marriage  of  Agnes's  Sister  took 
place  also  about  the  same  time.*  They  all 
assembled  at  Church  to  receive  the  Blessing 
for  the  Golden  Marriage.  Melancthon  stood 
before  the  Altar,  Agnes  and  Albert  next  to  the 
Pair.  Pirkheimer  had  perhaps  thought  that 
the  Wives,  listening  in  silence,  would  receive 
a  word  of  Warning  from  another,  from  a 
Stranger  who  spoke  without  design ;  that  a 
Hint  is  often  sufficient  to  change  their  whole 
manner  of  Life,  leading  them  thereby  to  look 
within,  and  in  the  Word  spoken  to  see  them- 
selves, clear  as  in  a  Glass.  And  all  this  with- 
out any  exposure  to  the  World.  He  might 
therefore  perhaps,  as  the  Friend  of  both  Hus- 
bands, have  given  a  hint  to  the  Orator  who 
had  consented  to  preside,  to  scatter  Seed  which, 
besides  growing  up  now,  would  certainly  bring 

*  Allusion  is  here  made  to  a  custom  which  prevails  in  Germany 
of  having  a  grand  celebration  when  a  couple  have  been  married 
twenty-five  years,  and  this  is  called  "  The  Silver  Marriage.'* 
Another  takes  place  when  they  have  been  fifty  years  married,  and 
it  is  called  "  The  Golden  Marriage.'1—  Translator. 


PEACE   IN  LIFE.  185 

forth  good  Fruits  in  this  City  for  Centuries. 
For  Melancthon,  without  looking  at  Agnes,  said 
to  the  assembly  of  Men  and  Wives  and  young 
Women,  among  other  things,  the  following:  — 
There  is  certainly  nothing  more  unnatural  than 
a  disobedient  Wife.  Slaves  cannot  obey,  for 
they  are  not  free  ;  neither  do  Children  under- 
stand how  to  obey,  for  Obedience  is  the  Key- 
stone of  all  Cultivation  and  Freedom,  and  the 
fruit  of  Love  and  Reason  at  the  same  time. 

Where  Obedience  is  awanting,  Freedom  fails 
also,  from  being  an  oppression  to  itself ;  Love, 
too,  fails,  or  Reason,  if  not  both.  But  every 
one  must  be  subject  to  the  Law  which  is  given 
him.  The  Husband  and  Wife  may  certainly 
hold  converse  together  as  to  equal  Virtue  and 
Honour,  regarding  their  rank  as  Citizens  and 
human  Beings,  and  of  equal  Protection  of  their 
particular  Rights, —  but  not  of  equal  rights! 
because  the  Duties  and  Obligations  of  the 
Husband,  his  position  with  regard  to  the  World 
and  his  native  Land,  are  incomparably  higher. 
Only  those  who  are  equal  in  reality  have  equal 
Rights  before  God  and  Man.  Even  equal 
Science  and  Art  and  Cultivation  do  not  give 
a  right  to  Disobedience  on  the  part  of  the 


186  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

Wife;  much  less  Beauty,  a  white  Skin,  or 
bright  Gold.  For  the  Man  and  the  House  — 
and  the  Wife  herself  —  cannot  subsist,  if  she 
does  not,  from  Love  and  sacred  Respect  to  the 
ancient  and  divine  Duty  of  her  Sex,  cheerfully 
make  the  Will  of  her  Husband  her  own.  And 
let  us  consider  !  As  the  Man,  in  his  earlier 
Years,  was  often  subject  to  many  restraints, 
so  was  the  Wife  in  like  manner,  before  she 
entered  his  House.  She  must  learn  what  is 
taught  her;  she  cannot  choose  for  herself  her 
Station,  her  Fortune,  her  Occupations,  nor  even 
her  Husband — for  the  delicacy  of  the  feminine 
nature  will  in  no  age  admit  of  this.  She  enters 
a  Town  with  him,  she  enters  the  House  in 
which  he  dwells,  she  undertakes  to  superintend 
the  circle  of  domestic  affairs,  into  which  he  has 
led  her,  and  in  which  she  must  lead.  She 
becomes  thereby  truly  his  Wife.  She  must 
take  little  Strangers  to  her  Heart,  foster  them, 
and  also  love  them  —  without  having  been  able 
to  choose  them.  And  nothing  of  all  this  seems 
strange  to  her,  for  it  is  done  in  Obedience  to 
sacred  Nature,  and  thus  blest  by  God.  It 
seems  quite  unnatural  to  her  to  consider  when 
and  where  she  should  be  obedient  to  her  Hus- 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  187 

band.  He  only  silently  desires  it  from  the 
same  Law  of  Nature  ;  and  if  this  universal 
Mother  has  as  it  were  commanded  Obedience 
on  the  part  of  the  Wife  by  her  Love  towards 
her  Husband,  she  has  also  lightened  it,  yea, 
made  it  sweet  and  animating;  for  the  loving 
Wife  scarcely  knows  that  she  obeys ;  she  does 
all  for  her  Husband,  before  he  even  asks.  It  is 
only  the  cold,  insipid,  capricious,  ungrateful, 
who  feel  the  Fetters,  because  they  are  without 
Affection.  A  continually-increasing  Disobe- 
dience is  but  the  decrease  of  the  power  of 
Love,  and  the  decline  of  Amiability,  and  Firm- 
ness of  Character — and  this  also  on  the  part 
of  the  Husband.  A  Woman  then  loses  her 
respect  for  a  Man,  because  she  sees  in  him  no 
unselfish  Protector ;  for  it  is  not  the  outward 
form  of  a  Man  which  calls  for  Love  and 
Respect — but  the  Nobility  of  the  Soul,  which 
alone  can  live,  and  inspire  Confidence,  as  being 
in  its  nature  lasting.  He,  however,  who  loves 
his  Wife,  allows  her  to  rule  and  reign  in  her 
own  department,  because  she  is  a  Woman  and 
his  Wife,  and  when  prudent  and  wise,  under- 
stands all  these  things  better  than  he.  What 
concerns  himself,  however,  as  the  acting  and 


188  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

reasoning  Spirit  of  the  House,  that  he  has  a 
Right  to  claim,  if  it  be  not  done  from  free 
Will;  that  is  to  say,  from  Reason.  For  he  is 
Lord  of  the  House,  and  the  Father  of  the 
Children,  the  support  of  his  Wife,  her  stay  in 
Life,  yea  even  after  his  Death  ;  as  the  San 
that  has  just  gone  down  sheds  its  influence 
on  the  Rainbow,  which  with  its  lovely  and 
varied  Colours,  hovers  yet  a  while  in  Clouds 
over  the  teeming  Earth  ;  till  becoming  ever 
dimmer  and  fainter,  it  at  last  by  degrees  ex- 
pires from  beneath,  but  still  beautiful  and  dis- 
cernible even  to  the  last  faint  trace  of  its  Arch ! 
But  by  Disobedience  his  little  Kingdom  is  dis- 
solved ;  yea  Cities  and  States  secretly  decline, 
where  the  Man  is  not  the  Head  of  the  House. 
For  from  Disobedience  arises  Opposition,  and 
from  Opposition  Strife;  and  where  Strife  is, 
there  Law  and  Happiness  go  to  wreck.  But 
where  the  Wife  is  properly  trained  and  accus- 
tomed to  Obedience,  then  the  Man  rules  mildly, 
only  asking  and  counselling,  being  satisfied 
with  the  Knowledge  of  his  Power.  By  ruling, 
however,  he  himself  learns  to  be  subject,  and 
submits  to  it  willingly ;  for  he  who  does  not 
find  Obedience  where  he  should  command  it, 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  189 

relaxes  again  in  his  turn  his  obligations  towards 
mankind  in  general.  Therefore  herein  also  is 
the  Wife  the  Guardian-spirit  of  her  Husband, 
when  the  love  with  which  her  Heart  is  imbued 
impels  her  to  Subjection,  because  indeed  it 
would  be  a  shame  for  her  to  command,  to  rule ! 
And  even  Obedience  is  scarcely  so  useful,  as 
Disobedience  is  injurious,  by  the  Self-will  and 
Confidence  in  her  own  Wisdom  which  it  dis- 
plays. Obedience  argues  no  want  of  Wisdom 
or  title  to  Respect.  No  :  this  primitive  Bond, 
which  is  the  Glory  and  Security  of  Woman, 
can  in  no  Age  be  dissolved,  founded  as  it  is 
on  the  Softness  of  her  Nature,  and  calculated 
to  produce  the  purest  Happiness.  Foolish 
Fear!  through  Obedience  to  sink  down  to  the 
condition  of  a  Servant !  It  was  by  Obedience 
that  Mary  became  the  Blessed  among  Women. 
May  Happiness  and  Prosperity,  then,  be  the  lot 
of  the  Obedient!  of  her  who  places  implicit 
trust  in  the  Will  of  another,  whom  she  loves, 
whom  she  thereby  makes  happy,  who  meets  her 
half-way,  who  knows  not  how  to  thank  her 
sufficiently  for  all  the  Love  and  Kindness  she 
is  always  so  liberally  bestowing  on  him!  How 
insensible  must  be  the  Heart  of  that  Woman 
who  is  not  satisfied  with  such  a  Reward ! 


190  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

Albert's  Silver  Marriage,  which  had  taken 
place  seven  Years  before,  had  not  been  cele- 
brated; no  one  came  to  wish  him  joy  of  it! 
The  Day  was  spent  in  sorrowful  Thoughts. 
He  now  observed,  that  when  Melancthon  pro- 
nounced anew  the  Benediction  on  the  Couple, 
Agnes,  who  during  the  address  had  been  dis- 
solved in  Tears,  secretly  clung  to  the  dress  of 
her  Sister,  that  she  might  receive  the  Blessing 
along  with  her.  As  on  the  Day  of  her  Mar- 
riage, one  of  her  Cheeks  was  pale,  the  other 
in  a  glow.  That  she,  however,  should  consider 
the  Blessing  of  this  Man  efficacious,  was  to 
Albert  a  Sign  that  she  had  returned  to  the  old 
simple  Faith,  perhaps  for  his  sake,  knowing 
that  he  was  attached  to  it.  That  moved  him 
to  his  Heart's  Core,  and  he  also  touched  the 
Clothing  of  the  old  Bridegroom  ! 

Returned  Home  again,  Agnes  wept,  and  that 
openly ! 

Alberts  Strength  was  gone,  he  felt  that  it 
was  so.  And  alas !  the  Fear  of  his  Death  now 
scared  away  Agnes  from  him  again!  When 
he  began  gently  to  speak  of  it,  and  to  tell  her 
which  of  his  Pictures  he  considered  the  best; 
for  which  —  after  he  was  gone  —  she  should 
expect  the  highest  Price;  how  she  might  be 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  191 

able  to  arrange  this  or  that  in  the  best  manner 
possible  for  herself  alone  —  then  she  was  dumb 
and  motionless  as  a  Marble  Statue,  and  he 
spent  many  sorrowful  Days,  till  the  Gloom 
that  overspread  her  Existence  passed  away, 
and  thereby  Peace  was  restored  to  him  again. 
Formerly  he  had  to  endure  Grief  on  account 
of  her  Temper  and  Conduct,  till  he  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  and  at  last  sunk  under  it  by  de- 
grees:  now  she  saw  him  borne  down  through 
her,  and  had  to  bear  his  sorrow  on  her  account, 
and  her  own  fresh  Sorrow  for  him !  This  only 
doubled  his  Pain,  and  could  not  now  be  re- 
deemed. She  silently  did  everything  to  please 
him,  to  comfort  him,  to  cheer  him  for  the  Mo- 
ments yet  to  come  —  but  to  recompense  him 
for  what?  for  many  long  Years  of  Sorrow! 
She  now  wished  suddenly  to  make  up  to  him 
for  all,  to  impart  Joy  to  him  —  but  for  what? 
For  his  Death.  He  was  now  therefore  obliged 
to  avoid  being  cheerful,  and  the  poor  Soul, 
alas !  ceased  in  consequence  in  the  end,  either 
to  try  to  enliven  him,  or  to  be  cheerful  her- 
self —  or  even  to  appear  so.  And  thus  they 
both  sunk  into  Silence  and  patient  Endurance. 
They  only  smiled  upon  each  other.  This  was 


192  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

certainly  the  extreme  of  Wretchedness,  which 
no  one  on  Earth  seemed  to  be  able  to  relieve 
or  remove  —  and  yet  it  was  at  length  removed, 
and  his  long  oppressed  Heart  found  —  Peace 
in  Life. 

For,  softened  by  the  quiet  kindliness  of  feel- 
ing which  had  lately  possessed  her,  Agnes  now 
disclosed  her  real  Feelings,  but  only  gradu- 
ally, at  intervals  of  Days  and  in  broken  Sen- 
tences. 

She  had  been  playing  one  day  in  the  garden 
with  her  little  Brother  Johannes;  —  he  had  put 
a  small  polished  stone  into  his  mouth ;  finding 
afterwards  a  Bird's  Nest,  and  holding  in  his 
breath  for  joy,  he  had  choked  on  the  Stone ; 
his  Face  became  red,  he  sunk  down,  and  kick- 
ing with  his  Feet,  stared  at  her  with  glazed 
eyes;  she  hid  herself,  from  childish  fear;  their 
Father,  on  coming  home,  had  inquired  for  Ag- 
nes before  inquiring  for  Johannes ;  —  he  went 
to  search  for  her,  and  found  him  !  When  they 
were  carrying  away  poor  little  Johannes  to  bury 
him,  Agnes,  looking  longingly  after  him  from 
a  window  in  the  upper  floor,  had  fallen  over 
and  struck  her  Head  on  the  Pavement,  and 
she  let  Albert  feel  the  hollow,  which  was  even 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  193 

perceptible  to  the  Eye,  from  a  slight  depression 
of  the  Hair.  Now  it  had  been  the  fond  Wish 
and  Dream  of  the  poor  Girl,  to  build  an  Altar 
to  the  little  Johannes ,  whose  Life  perhaps 
might  have  been  saved  —  had  it  not  been  for 
her  Flight  —  at  which  a  Priest  paid  by  her- 
self should  say  Mass  every  Morning  for  him 
and  for  her.* 

She  now  also  began  gently  to  complain  that 
she  did  not  hear  well  when  the  Wind  blew 
from  Ftirth.^ 

It  then  came  to  light  by  degrees  that  the 
Wind  had  certainly,  during  many  fine  Sea- 
sons, very  often  blown  from  Ftirth.$ 

The  conversation  once  turned  upon  Dreams, 
and  it  was  remarked  that  any  one  could  find 
out  the  most  secret  Thoughts  of  the  Heart  of 
another  when  he  speaks  in  his  Sleep,  by  seiz- 


*  It  appears  then  that  Agnes's  Frugality  arose  from  Repent- 
ance, from  Piety  !  And  she  concealed  it  too,  because  it  was  a 
Catholic  Piety,  not  wishing  to  confess  it  to  Albert,  who  was  Evan- 
gelical, that  she  might  at  least  appear  Reasonable  to  him,  and 
not  vex  him  by  old  Absurdities.  —  W.  P. 

f  Furth  is  a  village  near  Niirnberg,  and  this  complaint  of  not 
hearing  well  when  the  wind  blew  from  it,  must  be  some  local 
superstition.  —  Translator. 

\  This  Excuse  may  be  admitted.  —  W.  P. 
13 


194  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

ing  and  holding  him  by  the  great  Toe  of  the 
left  Foot ;  —  then  he  reveals  all.  Agnes  had 
once  —  during  the  Honeymoon,  when  she  heard 
Albert  speaking  in  his  Sleep,  seized  and  held 
him  by  the  great  Toe  of  the  left  Foot,  had 
listened  and  heard  him  say :  "  The  Serpent 
with  the  human  Countenance  pleases  me  not! 
—  Potiphar's  Wife  is  nothing  more  than  beau- 
tiful! a  great  fault!  An  alluring  Sin  allures 
to  Sin  —  Flight  would  here  again  be  the  most 

desirable ! " 

These  Words  she  foolishly  applied  to  her- 
self,* when  they  were  probably  only  a  succes- 
sion of  Images  which  he  beheld  in  his  Dreams. 
Vain  as  she  was  of  her  Beauty,  she  had  pre- 
ferred allowing  a  thousand  mental  Faults  to 
be  attributed  to  her,  rather  than  one  bodily. 
Her  Frugality,  as  it  was  now  explained  —  the 
spurring  on  to  work  —  the  brightening  up  of 

*  Thus  the  Superstitions  of  others  may  be  destructive  to  us! 
It  will  never  be  well  here,  that  is,  on  this  side  of  the  Mountains, 
till  Superstition  is  also  banished  from  the  other  side,  that  is,  from 
among  the  Ultramontanes.  There  will  be  no  Peace  till  then;  for 
the  Foolish  are  continually  breaking  and  destroying  Peace.  To 
be  Wise  alone  is  of  no  avail.  Therefore  he  who  has  Reason  on 
his  side  must  not  be  silent;  he  must  not  remain  inactive.  It  is 
from  Heaven  he  has  received  his  right  to  work.  —  W.  P. 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  195 

the  Gold,  —  what  else  were  they  but  the  Pen- 
ance of  a  pious  Nature,  seeking  Atonement 
for  a  supposed  Crime? 

The  Cheerfulness  Albert  had  maintained  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  his  past  Life  was  gone,  was 
now  entirely  lost  —  but  his  Life  —  by  no  means 
so!  His  mental  Faculties,  his  Fancies,  his 
Desires,  had  richly  indemnified  him,  and  he 
was  enabled  to  impart  to  others  the  feelings 
of  Pleasure  which  had  been  denied  to  himself 
—  Ah !  and  also  the  Powers  which  he  still 
possessed,  without  having  known  or  dreamt  of 
them!  He  now  became  conscious  of  a  new 
Faculty  in  Man,  —  that  of  being  able  to  re- 
nK>del  the  Past,  according  to  his  present  Pow- 
ers and  Perceptions !  —  a  Faculty  which  almost 
of  itself  would  demonstrate  that  Man  is  of  Di- 
vine Origin.  With  the  Torch  of  his  present 
Knowledge,  he  went  far  back  into  the  Hall  of 
other  Days.  Images  in  an  innumerable  suc- 
cession of  Chambers  were  there  to  be  seen. 
And  as  he  began  to  wander  with  his  Torch, 
the  old  Forms  which  were  resting  there  rose 
up  once  again,  and  they  looked  at  him  differ- 
ently, arid  he  looked  at  them  differently;  they 
whispered  to  him,  and  he  whispered  to  them, 


196  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

what  he  now  knew  that  he  knew  not  formerly ; 
their  Countenances  were  peaceful,  and  his  Soul 
came  to  an  Understanding  with  theirs;  and 
from  the  Cultivated  of  every  Age  he  parted 
reconciled  and  with  a  Smile;  and  he  roused 
those  of  the  following  Age,  and  conciliated 
them  also.  But  he  himself  was  also  to  be  seen 
there !  a  poor,  melancholy,  embarrassed  Man, 
who  sat  and  painted  in  all  the  Chambers  and 
looked  pitifully  at  him!  To  this  Self,  during 
all  these  long  days  so  desolate  and  lonely,  he 
also  reconciled  himself ;  and  his  Forms  all 
smiled  now,  arose,  and  wished  to  follow  him 
through  all  the  Chambers  of  the  Hall  of  other 
days,  even  up  into  the  last  Chamber  —  even 
out  into  the  great  Hall  of  the  Sun  —  to  Agnes, 
where  she  now  lived  and  breathed,  a  changed, 
improved,  and  estimable  being,  and  where  he 
alone  was  permitted  to  wander — he,  the  living, 
the  blest !  But  they  only  looked  after  him  and 
said :  We  now  willingly  remain  here  in  the 
Hall  t>f  the  Past ;  thou  hast  revived  us,  and 
poured  fresh  "Water  on  us,  like  faded  Flowers ! 
Thou  hast  breathed  a  bright  Soul  into  thine 
own  dead  Works!  We  thank  thee  that  thou 
didst  come  down  and  dwell  with  us.  Mayst 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  197 

thou  be  happy,  till  thou  comest  thyself,  or  till 
thou  dost  Arrive  at  the  End  of  thine  own 
Course ! 

He  thus  filled  up  again  the  spoiled  Wine  of 
his  Life  with  fresh  sweet  Must,  and  it  fer- 
mented and  cast  out  the  Dregs,  and  was  pal- 
atable, although  not  so  sweet  as  the  Must! 

To  see  his  Agnes  thus  excused,  was  a  Cor- 
dial to  his  Heart,  and  imparted  Power  to  his 
Mind  yet  once  more  to  flame  forth. 

But  with  already  broken  Heart,  he  could 
only  now  direct  her  attention  to  the  preserva- 
tion of  his  Works.  He  completed  those  that 
were  only  half  finished,  destroyed  such  as  were 
no  longer  practicable,  overlooked  everything 
and  rejoiced  in  his  Life.  Even  the  saddest 
Year  has  sunny  Blinks,  and  Seed  thrives  in 
good  Ground  even  in  a  bad  Year ;  and  the 
Year  is  twice  beautiful,  —  when  the  Trees  blos- 
som, and  when  they  exhibit  red  and  yellow 
Fruits,  in  the  interval  everything  is  uniformly 
green  and  green !  There  lay  now  on  the  large 
Table  the  Fruits  of  his  Labours;  his  Work: 
Instruction;  for  the  use  of  all  Lovers  of  the 
Arts;  four  Books  on  the  Proportions  of  the 
13* 


198  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

human  Body ;  the  Great  Passion ;  the  Revela- 
tion of  St.  John ;  the  Life  of  Mary ;  104  Sheets 
of  Engravings ;  367  Sheets  of  Woodcuts ;  the 
whole  of  the  Pictures  in  his  own  list  were  to 
the  number  of  1254  Pieces.  The  Scholars  also 
whom  he  had  trained  arrived  to  see  him ;  one 
of  them,  indeed,  was  the  Pope's  Painter  and 
Architect  at  Rome.  He  inspected  the  Medals 
which  were  struck  in  honour  of  him ;  fifty  dif- 
ferent Likenesses  were  scarcely  sufficient  to 
supply  the  demands  which  came  from  all  quar- 
ters. He  was  most  struck  with  a  Medal  of 
him,  on  which  were  his  arms:  An  open  Gate 
with  two  Wings ;  on  the  crest  a  grown  Man 
without  Arms.  Thus  the  Past  may  often  prove 
an  indication  of  the  Future!  The  open  Gate 
was  the  Gate  to  Heaven.  The  grown  Man 
without  Arms  was  he,  the  Dead.  —  What  was 
there  in  his  Life  that  he  could  now  change  ? 
what  improve  ?  It  was  God  alone  who  could 
change  the  Peace  he  had  found  in  Life,  to 
Peace  in  Death.  So  farewell,  my  Albert! 
The  Italians  called  thee  Alberto  Duro !  but 
that  thou  wert  not,  either  in  Art  or  in  Life.  — 
Thus  Albert  peacefully  awaited  Death,  as  he 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  199 

had  peacefully  lived.     Almighty  God  be  gra- 
cious to  him, 

and   grant   him   a   happy   End! 


There  sat  I,  poor  Wilibald,  leaning  on  my 
Hands  and  weeping.  The  foreign  Artists  who 
had  wished  to  serenade  him,  began  to  do  so 
now,  and  in  the  Stillness  of  the  Night,  the  soft 
Tones  of  the  Flutes  and  Flageolets  penetrated 
from  the  street  till  they  reached  my  Ear  and 
that  of  the  dying  Man.  In  the  room  under 
me,  while  I  was  reading,  Agnes  had  sung  all 
sorts  of  Songs  in  her  Anguish,  at  last  even  a 
drinking  Song !  I  could  not  smile  at  this.  Al- 
bert had  had  the  enjoyment  of  one  cheerful 
Heart,  and  that  was  his  own.  He  would  not 
otherwise  have  known  what  a  Treasure  God 
has  implanted  in  the  Bosom  of  Man.  His  Wife 
had  diligently  digged  for  it,  and  brought  the 
bright  and  shining  Treasure  to  the  Day.  And 
how  much  he  had  accomplished!  I  therefore 
now  perceived  that  nothing  can  repress  the 
energy  of  a  true  Artist,  and  that  nothing  is 
a  Misfortune  to  him.  He  might  —  perhaps  — 


200  PEACE   IN   LIFE 

feel  better  and  easier  in  one  way  than  another 
—  but  whatever  is  in  an  Artist's  Soul  is  drawn 
forth  by  the  World,  whether  it  be  in  Rain  or 
in  Sunshine.  And  what  he  succeeded  in  was 
no  Trifle  —  for  that  was  his  Life.  If  he  expe- 
rienced Suffering,  it  was  because  he  loved,  and 
that  was  better  than  being  happy  without  lov- 
ing, if  indeed  any  one  can  be  happy  without 
loving!  Love  always  makes  one's  own  Heart 
happy :  let  every  one  rest  assured  of  this.  And 
he  who  is  a  genuine  Artist  is  full  of  Love.  A 
Woman  always  and  everywhere  marries  the 
Man  alone,  and  not  his  Trade ;  therefore  let 
every  one  boldly  marry  the  Woman  he  loves, 
and  let  no  Woman  fear  to  marry  an  Artist, 
for  she  may  be  as  happy  with  him  as  with 
another,  even  were  she  in  all  respects  an  Ag- 
nes. A  woman  without  Fault  or  Failing  is 
an  Angel,  and  will  always  be  so  in  every  sit- 
uation ;  yea,  and  what  is  more  —  will  appear 
so!  But  had  Albert  described  himself  as  an 
unhappy  Man  in  his  married  Life  ?  Certainly 
not.  What  had  I  perceived  or  discovered  on 
reading  it,  but  just  the  longing  after  pure  Hap- 
piness ?  And  the  description  of  his  Agnes  had 
represented  to  me  very  vividly  such  a  Wife  as 


PEACE   IN   LIFE,  201 

an  Artist  stands  in  need  of,  and  better  than  I 
could  have  pictured  to  myself  in  the  form  of  a 
peacefully-happy  Wife.  And  thus  my  Albert 
had  had  the  best  possible  experience  of  a  Wife. 
For  as  he  himself  as  a  Painter  once  said  on 
the  subject  of  Delineation,  so  it  is;  that  in  a 
Picture,  Light  first  arises  from  Shade  —  that 
Light  indeed  becomes  only  properly  visible  by 
means  of  Shade,  and  when  we  perceive  that 
the  bright  Sun  of  Heaven  shines  through  them. 
The  great  Lord  of  All  could  not  have  impart- 
ed to  him  a  more  vivid  Conception  of  what 
the  Wife  of  an  Artist  ought  to  be,  than  by 
giving  him  one,  by  giving  him  his  own,  —  one, 
who  would  have  made  an  Artist  miserable,  had 
he  not,  as  every  one  can  and  may,  taken  refuge 
in  his  Art,  and  in  his  own  high  and  noble 
Thoughts  and  Feelings,  as  my  Albert  did. 
Thus  was  he  nevertheless  happy!  For  in  every 
one  who  is  unhappy,  there  lies  concealed  a  Ca- 
pacity for  Happiness,  yea  an  inexhaustible  Fe- 
licity of  Soul,  if  he  knows  how  to  call  it  forth ; 
and  if  he  cannot  do  so,  then  he  deserves  to 
suffer.  Also  Contrast  was  not  awanting  to 
Albert,  but  he  touched  on  it  slightly  and  cau- 
tiously; for  there  soared  Crescenzia,  and  there 


202  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

hovered  Clara  also  over  him  like  an  Angel, 
who  wished  to  come  down  to  him,  but  dared 
not.  In  the  Deprivation  of  Happiness,  lies 
thousand-fold  Happiness.  Albert  thus  learned 
what  a  Wife  might  be  —  and  oh !  that  they 
themselves  understood  what  they  might  be  to 
a  Husband!  —  and  he  lived  it  all  in  Thoughts 
and  Wishes,  and  revelled  in  the  longed-for 
Enjoyment.  Oh!  the  sweet  Charm  of  Life!  the 
ever  Joy-inspiring  race  of  Women !  And  thus 
I  now  looked  upon  him  as  happy!  —  happier 
than  one  who  is  led  by  his  Wife  all  his  Life, 
foolishly  occupied  with  her  Dress,  her  Vanities, 
her  Pleasures,  and  her  worldly  ways  of  think- 
ing. Agnes  led  him  into  the  Depths  of  the 
Heart,  led  him  daily  back  to  the  Artist's  only 
true  and  immoveably-clear  Source.  Even  a 
hard  Life  is  better  for  him  than  an  easy  one. 
By  these  Thoughts,  thus  excited,  I  was  pre- 
pared to  see  our  dear  Mistress  Anges  enter, 
whose  Sufferings  only  in  reality  began  with 
the  Death  of  Albert.  She  now  appeared  at 
the  Door.  I  went  towards  her,  and  took  her 
Hand,  which  trembled.  She  followed  me  like 
a  Spectre.  She  looked  at  the  Master.  She 
looked  at  the  Child.  The  Flutes  sounded  on, 


PEACE   IN   LIFE.  203 

so  sweetly !  so  softly !  Ah  !  it  is  at  the  hour 
of  Death  that  Music  is  truly  for  the  first  time  — 
Music;  in  Life  it  is  only  a  Sound,  awakening 
Remembrance  of  the  Past,  or  Foreboding  of 
the  Future.  Now  it  was  truly  the  Call  of  the 
Angels  from  Heaven. 

A  Messenger  now  suddenly  and  roughly  en- 
tered the  silent  holy  Chamber.  He  besought 
me  to  come  Home.  Clara  —  my  poor,  gentle 
sister  Clara  —  was  just  dead;  perhaps  from 
Anguish  and  Fear  that  Albert  was  dying !  — 
for  she  had  heard  Agnes  begging  me  to  go  to 
him.  The  shivering  of  the  Glass,  which  Agnes 
knocked  in,  had  drawn  her  to  the  Window  over 
my  Head.  As  I  went  out,  she  whispered  down 
to  me  tenderly  :  Do  not  be  angry  with  him,  my 
Brother !  God  be  with  you  ! 

Alas !  these  then  had  been  her  last  Words  ! 
I  wept  bitterly.  Why  should  I  now  go  Home  ? 
The  Dead  wait  full  of  Patience. 

Albert  had  evidently  heard  the  announce- 
ment that  had  just  been  made  to  me.  He 
opened  his  Eyes.  Agnes  scarcely  ventured  to 
approach  him :  she  showed  as  much  forbear- 
ance as  to  allow  him  to  die  in  Peace,  instead 
of  grieving  him  once  more  by  the  remembrance 


204  PEACE   IN   LIFE. 

of  all  his  Sufferings,  which  the  sight  of  her 
would  have  called  forth.  She  knelt  at  his 
Bed,  concealing  her  Head.  He,  however,  lifted 
his  Hand,  laid  it  on  her  Head,  and  said  with 
a  faltering  Voice  :  Follow  thou  me !  Thou 
wert  good — I  have  entertained  an  Angel. 

No !  I  have !  sobbed  Agnes,  and  I  knew  it 
not,  I  believed  it  not! 

There  thou  wilt  see  into  my  Heart !  said  he  ; 
how  I  always  told  thee ;  I  was  not  gentle,  not 
good  enough  —  for  I  suffered,  for  I  was  full  of 
Love 

He  expired  with  the  word  "  Love  "  upon  his 
Lips.  The  Flutes  sounded  on,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  their  Tones  accompanied  his  Soul  to 
Heaven.  In  the  Churchyard  of  St.  John  rests 
all  that  was  mortal  of  him. 

Strew  Flowers  over  him,  oh  Wanderer! 


THE 


CAMBRIDGE:  PRIX 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES" 


C003331045 


